Venenum Filios
by Mattwho81
Summary: Confronted by enemies within and without the Storm Heralds find their very legacy under threat. With time running out their only hope for salvation dwells in the forgotten past but what dark paths will they have to walk to find it? This story is a sequel to my previous story Captum Ante.
1. Chapter 1

**Storm Heralds Reading List**

 **Book 1** Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, In Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum, Vacuus Cymba, Noctem Oritur,

 **Book 2** Umbram Ignis, Ancra Mortis, Fame Cimex, Crux Lapis, Saeva Abyssi.

 **Book 3** Captum Ante

 **Venenum Filios Chapter 1**

 **998.M41**

He ran, ran for all he was worth, putting one foot in front of the other, over and over. What else could he do, he couldn't fight this, he couldn't beg, bargain or threaten either, not with this. So he ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, pushing himself faster with every fibre of his being. The Juvie's name was Jerrick, a scrawny lad with long limbs and little fat on his body. He was covered in gang tattoos and piercings, declarations in ganger language of the number of men he had killed and the scores he had claimed. A few of them were even true.

Jerrick was currently racing through the dark under-hive, passing slums and hovels on all sides as he desperately fled. High above his head soared the awe-inspiring peaks of the Hive Cities, the mighty conurbations that dominated Tectum, capital world of the Saint Karyl Trail. Those man-made mountains were so high and proud that they scratched the edge of space. Places where the rich and the powerful could enjoy staggering vistas, not that Jerrick would ever see them.

Jerrick was a lowly ganger, born in the darkness of the under-hive and destined to die without ever seeing sunlight. Just like a million, billion other souls in this galaxy. Yet it was doubtful he would ever understand that truth, in fact, it was doubtful he would live out the day. Jerrick glanced behind him and saw Amelia, Koru and Jazza right behind him, their own faces red and puffy from exertion. They were his last companions, all that remained of their gang. They had been hired to fetch a certain item for a powerful employer, just one more simple job for some rich guy but it had all gone epically wrong.

Jerrick shuddered when he thought of what had happened, mere minutes ago. They had found the item easily enough and retrieved it, then all hell had broken loose. As soon as Jerrick had placed the item in his belt pouch they had been attacked, hit hard and fast by huge monsters clad head to toe in metal.

The gang had tried to fight back but had been hopelessly outmatched, like babes beating on a parent's leg. Las-pistols, shotguns, vibro-knives, all had proven useless against those killers and most of the gang had been slaughtered. The four survivors knew all too well when they were outmatched and had fled for their lives, dropping their guns lest the weight slow them down. Jerrick heard a thud behind him and glanced back, seeing Koru sprawled in the dust.

"Leave him," shouted Jerrick.

Amelia cried, "But we…"

"Run," cried Jerrick, "Just run!"

Gangers knew all too well the importance of looking after themselves and they ran, leaving their comrade behind. A second later there was a scream and the sound of flesh tearing and they knew that the killers were still right on their tail. Jerrick was running hard, his chest heaving and his legs turning to jelly yet he dare not relent. They were moving as fast as humanly possible but still they had not lost their pursuers, in fact, it seemed that they were being easily outpaced.

"Gotta reach the rendezvous," Jerrick gasped between heaving breaths, "Reach the rendezvous and the guy will keep us safe."

"This way, it's a shortcut," cried Jazza diving into a dark alley between two slums.

"No," yelled Jerrick but it was too late, there was a sharp snick and then something came rolling out of the alley. It was Jazza's head, smoothly separated from his neck. Jerrick grabbed Amelia's hand and pulled her along, yelling "Keep going, get to the rendezvous. The guy, he can keep us safe."

They ran once more, fleeing for their lives. Jerrick could feel sharp pains in his shins as he ran, the life of a ganger not training him for this kind of long distance running. He dare not stop though; all he could do was keep putting one foot before another and drag Amelia along behind him. She was labouring harder than he was and struggled to keep up. Jerrick kept urging her on though, trying to keep her with him. He had always entertained hopes of tapping that girl but failing that she might be useful as a bullet shield if the worst came to pass.

Just as they passed the open mouth of another alley there was a sharp bang and something whizzed past Jerrick, making his skin crawl with its nearness. There was another bang and Jerrick felt something wet splash up his back, he thought for a heart-stopping moment that he had been hit but to his relief, he seemed unharmed. He raced on, gripping Amelia's hand tightly and pushing himself to the limit.

It took a good few seconds for reality to penetrate his exhausted mind, but at last he realized something horrible. He glanced down and saw that while he was still holding Amelia's hand the rest of her body apparently wasn't attached. The hand and wrist clamped in his grip ended in a bloody stump and there was no sign of the rest of her.

Jerrick gasped in horror and dropped the severed limb, leaving it behind him as he fled. Sheer terror gripped his soul now, pushing him beyond his limits. He had to reach his employer, the guy was his only hope now of escaping this nightmare. Slum after slum flashed past and Jerrick's legs felt like jelly under him as his vision began to grey out from lack of oxygen. He couldn't stop though, to stop was to die. He had to keep going and sheer animal instinct pushed him on, the urge to survive making him surpass what he thought was possible.

Jerrick had no idea how long he ran or how close the killers were to him, his world had shrunk down to the path before him and the road under his aching feet. Then at last he saw it, the welcome sight of the rendezvous, representing blessed safety. Jerrick forced himself forward on wobbly legs, placing one numb foot after another. He felt the gaze of the killers on his neck every inch of the way but at last he stumbled through the empty doorway and fell into the dark interior.

Jerrick lay there for long minutes, chest heaving for air and limbs cramping as lactic acids drained from his muscles. Pain wracked his frame and a sick feeling churned in his guts, part exhaustion part rank terror. Every inch of him ached, body, mind and soul, he felt drained and spent, like a wrung-out rag.

After what seemed to be an eternity Jerrick rolled over and rose to his knees. He glanced back out the doorway, seeing nothing beyond. It appeared that the killers were wary of this building and its protector. Thinking of that made Jerrick look about the building, trying to find what he had come here for. The building was a ramshackle ruin, filled with mould and decaying furniture. It was indistinguishable from a million other run-down slums, but this was the rendezvous, he was certain of that. Jerrick staggered upright and took a hesitant step, calling out, "Hello?"

From the darkness came a voice, stern and patrician in aspect, "You're late."

Jerrick felt equal parts relief and dread as he answered, "We were attacked, the others, they're all dead."

The voice replied, "Your problems are not my concern."

With that a man stepped forward into the wan light, in matt black power armour that hummed as he moved and with a long black cloak that hung behind him. His armour was decorated with imposing icons and he had a las-pistol holstered at his hip. He exuded an aura of threatening menace well beyond his size, this was emphasised by his bald, scarred head and sneering expression. Yet the most ominous thing about him was the Inquisitorial rosette on his breast: which even a lowly Juvie like Jerrick recognised to be the mark of the Ordo Hereticus. This was the guy and his employer, an Inquisitor by the name of Zerban.

Zerban looked Jerrick up and down and then said, "Did you find it?"

Jerrick looked over his shoulder then said, "There are things out there, they're after me. You have to promise me protection, say you'll keep them away from me."

Zerban's face could have been made from stone as he repeated, "Did you find it?"

Jerrick fumbled with his belt pouches and then produced a small data-crystal, the cause of all this death and destruction. He presented it to the Inquisitor, his dirty hands leaving stains upon its flawless surface. Then Jerrick begged, "There you've got what you wanted; now you have to keep them away, keep me safe, right."

However Zerban wasn't listening, he was holding the crystal up to the light and examining its crystal matrix. His eyes narrowed as he pondered its mysteries but then lowered back to Jerrick. Quick as a flash Zerban's las-pistol was in his hands, the barrel pointed right at the Juvie. Jerrick barely had time to gape in stupefied confusion before the Las-pistol blazed and he felt his legs collapse beneath him.

Jerrick fell down, hands clasped to his guts and he felt a terrible coldness begin to creep up his legs. Zerban moved nearer to stand over him and pointed the Las-pistol between his eyes. Jerrick had time to croak one last, "Why?"

Zerban replied grimly, "No witnesses," then the gun fired and ended the Juvie's short life in a flash. Zerban wasted no time lingering over the corpse, he tucked the data-crystal away and then turned and stomped off, leaving only death in his wake.

Long minutes passed as the corpse slowly cooled and vermin began to creep out of the shadows, intent of feasting on the body. But they were sent scattering by the clomp of armoured boots. Slowly a pair of giant beings entered the run-down slum. Each of them was eight feet tall and clad in thick ceramite plates, decorated in shades of turquoise and inscribed with writhing serpents. One of them held a huge double-bladed axe in his hands while the other carried a staff crested with a three-headed snake and his helm had four twisted horns upon it.

The pair of them looked upon the corpse and the one with the axe declared, "So Beta, they took the bait."

"Yes Gamma," Beta replied, "The wheels are now in motion."

Gamma idly kicked the corpse and said, "You're sure Zerban will take the data to the Storm Heralds, he does hate them after all."

"Who else could he possibly turn to?" Beta replied, "The information will tell him everything he needs to know about our base. He will see the defences and know that only another force of Space Marine could penetrate them. Inquisitors never let a little thing like personal feelings get in the way of their missions… it's what makes them so wonderfully easy to manipulate."

Gamma nodded and said, "So the Storm Heralds will come to us and when they do…"

Beta replied, "We will be ready, it is time that the Imperial lapdogs learned the truth of this galaxy. The truth that the Hydra always wins."

Gamma nodded, pleased by that answer and then the pair of them departed, leaving only shadows and death in their wake. Behind them Jerrick's corpse began its long journey into decay and as the vermin returned a chill wind blew through the open door. A wind that would push many unsuspecting individuals to places that they could never have expected to go and into encounters with some whom they could never have predicted to meet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Venenum Filios Chapter 2**

The noise was staggering, the clamour of armoured boots, the snapping of weapon actions and the subliminal hum of power armour, mixed in with a hundred voices all talking at once. This was magnified by the tight confines of the ship's compartment and the distant rumble of the engines. The busy industry and preparations of a Battle-Company making ready for war would have staggered any mortal man. Astartes however were used to this; they had waged war for centuries and were accustomed to such a racket.

The Space Marines were divided into squads, making their preparations in groups. They would carefully check their armour's void seals one by one, then attend to each other's, meticulously double checking. They were expecting void combat and when it came to the dangers of space there was no such thing as too much preparation. Standing amid the hubbub was a warrior, marked out from his kin by his expanded Comm-gear and the long Vox-antenna that stood proud of his backpack. He had a large Friction-Axe locked to his hip and his right arm was an augmetic replacement below the elbow.

His name was Persion and he was a member of the Third Company, a command-squad veteran. Persion was stood with his arms outstretched; patiently waiting as his armour was being checked. Persion looked over the assembled Astartes, seeing Third Company making its preparations.

Among the ranks Persion picked out Sergeant Matheus, the proud and straight-laced Tactical-squad leader and there was Zeax, a dour Devastator. There was Sergeant Mylos, looking sour as usual and there was Lorath an Assault Sergeant. Lorath and Persion both stood out among this company, while most Storm Heralds came from the planet Lujan II these two were both were natives of the feral, secondary recruiting world Trux. Everybody else seemed to think that this should make them best friends but Persion was largely indifferent to that common bond. They were both Storm Heralds, what more needed to be said?

There was a satisfied exhalation from behind and the sound of a pair of hands clapped together, then another Space Marine stepped into view. It was Furion, the command-squad Sergeant and he declared, "Well everything seems to be in order, you won't die of vacuum exposure this time."

Persion nodded in gratitude, looking Furion up and down. He was a giant of a Space Marine, standing head and shoulders over his kin. This was exacerbated by the bulk of his antique Mark III armour; a jagged and hard-edged relic compared to the smooth lines of the contemporary Mark VI and Mark VII plate in common use. It suited him though, the bulky suit emphasizing his strength and fortitude. It was rumoured that Furion had been in line for the Chaplaincy, until he fell afoul of internal politics and been sent back to the ranks.

Persion stepped behind Furion and sighed, the Mark III plate was prized for its robust heft and layered armour but the down-side was that there were three times as many nooks and crannies to hide seals in; this was going to take ages. Persion bent to begin the laborious task of checking Furion's seals and as he did so he said, "So, do you think the intel is good?"

Furion was standing still but he answered, "It seems so, the Inquisition's data has been correct so far. If it is true then we should catch the Traitor's unaware."

"Traitors," Persion spat in disgust, "It makes my blood boil to think of facing them once more, we owe them for the attack on Lujan II."

"You know what troubles me," a voice came from beside them, "This intel came from the Inquisition. From that snake Zerban, do we really trust him?"

Persion glanced to his side, seeing the Company Champion also being checked over. His name was Novak and he was an irreverent and loose-tongued warrior, but with a blade in hand he was a prodigy. Yet his face was a mass of flash burns and deep scars, a reminder of an encounter with a Dark Eldar a couple of years earlier. Novak however had not lost his spirit, remaining upbeat and impudent at heart. Persion knew that he was smarter than he let on but Novak seemed to like being one of the squad and avoided the responsibilities of being a leader.

Persion drew in a breath and said, "Everything else has panned out so far, the Traitor's starfort was right where they said it would be, orbiting this dead rock in the middle of the Serrati Stellas. It looks like the Inquisition is actually on the level for once."

From behind Novak a mechanical voice intoned, "+I don't like it, I feel like I'm waiting for the first thing to go wrong+"

Persion nodded as he worked, that was the voice of Bylan the Company Standard Bearer. Bylan had been a crippled aspirant, destined to the life of a serf until he showed true heroism. The intervention of Captain Toran, (and a pair of augmetic lungs), had seen him given another chance. The lad had received no other favours and had risen on merit but he had been left with a bad case of hero worship for the Captain.

Persion declared, "Nothing we can do about it, what will come will come. We have to take it head on."

Another voice called, "It can't come soon enough, my blade thirsts for Traitor blood."

That was Jediah, who was the most conventional looking of the squad. Yet his fair façade hid a brutal and bloodthirsty warrior. In Persion's opinion he enjoyed his work far too much and lacked moral fibre. Yet Jediah's one redeeming virtue was his respect for strength, those who proved themselves worthy would find his fealty to be unbreakable.

Persion was distracted as his hand snagged on an awkward rim of Furion's armour, he grimaced and withdrew his arm to look closer. Sure enough down below the knee joint a seal had broken free and was hanging tantalizingly out of reach. Persion was irked but he had a solution, he switched hands and pushed his augmetic one into the joint. His wrist rotated 180 degrees, in a fashion organic bones would not allow and his fingers moved in a way normal sinews couldn't as he fixed the seal. Persion had disliked the replacement arm at first, finding it clumsy to begin with but at times it had proved exceedingly useful.

He straightened up and patted Furion on the pauldrons saying, "All ready."

Furion nodded in gratitude and declared, "Then let the Traitors fear us, nothing will gainsay our wrath."

The squad had finished their preparations and looked over the hall, seeing the rest of the Company finishing too. Rows of squads were preparing for the coming fight, the Third Company ready and eager for war. However Bylan frowned and said, "+What is eating Mylos?+"

Persion glanced over and saw Sergeant Mylos berating one of his squad. Persion scowled, for Mylos was a sour soul, aggrieved by loss. He was a competent Sergeant but his attitude stank, a fact that Persion had seen fit to use his fists to explain on occasions. Jediah piped up to say, "Is it just me or has he been getting worse the last few months?"

Persion agreed and said, "If he doesn't change his ways then soon he's going to find himself with an unexpected transfer to another Company."

"Yes, send him to Fourth Company," chipped in Novak, "Let Captain Jossat worry about him, they deserve each other."

"Enough," growled Furion in admonishment, "Mylos is a Sergeant and should command your respect. Honour the rank if you cannot admire the man."

The squad were humbled by the rebuke but thankfully were saved from further scolding by the emergence of three more Brothers. The first was Chaplain Wrethan, a stern taskmaster with an undercurrent of pride for the Marines under him. The second was Apothecary Memnos, a rational and level-headed Marine and the last was Captain Toran, a young officer and a rising star in the Chapter.

Persion had served with Toran for a long time, long before he was a Captain. Toran was a brilliant and innovative leader, with a surprising track record for one who was barely a century old. Yet he did have a tendency to overthink things and wasn't above a bit of theatre to get his point across. Persion was sure that Toran was destined for greatness and sometimes speculated if he too might rise higher in the Captain's wake.

As they watched the trio strode to the centre of the room and Toran called, "Company, give me your eyes."

Third Company came to attention as Toran waited, his red augmetic eye and cloak cutting a dashing figure and his weapon, the legendary Sword of Thiel, hanging by his hip. He waited for the Company, then declared, "There's been a complication."

From the back Sergeant Lorath asked, "What's happened?"

Toran responded by summoning a Hololithic projection, shining down from high above. It displayed a starfort, a large one, uncommonly wide and festooned with guns. Toran began, "As you all know, the Inquisition provided us with the location of this Alpha Legion base. It has been hiding under our noses for years, lurking here in the Serrati Stellas like a spider in its web."

"Ramilies class," spat Mylos, "How the hell did the Traitors hide something that big for all these years. The Imperium's incompetence is astounding."

Toran ignored the remark and said, "As we all know such a bastion is heavily fortified, a frontal assault will be bloody and time-consuming. The Chapter is still rebuilding following the recent Tyrannid encounters, we can ill-afford such a battle, but thanks to the Thunderchild we have other options."

Everybody nodded for their ship, the Thunderchild, was a rare breed. It was a capital ship but one equipped with the rare and exotic Reflex Shields, a form of stealth technology almost unheard of in this age. Even now the Thunderchild was drifting into position, closing upon the Traitor's base, unseen and undetected.

Sergeant Lorath called, "So what's the problem?"

Toran explained, "The Thunderchild cannot fight a starfort alone, so we were meant to infiltrate closer and insert a boarding party. Our mission was to break open the defences for the following Imperial taskforce under the authority of Inquisitor Zerban. Unfortunately as we closed in we detected this."

Persion leaned in as a red icon flashed in the Hololith, he read the binaric screed displayed next to it and gasped, "That is a C-101 Vigilia-model auspex array, it can pick up the beat of a gnat's wings in the middle of a typhoon from high orbit. They haven't made it's like in ten thousand years, how can the Traitors have got one of those?"

"Hardly matters" spat Mylos, "This destroys any chance to board via torpedo or gunship. They will detect us instantly and blast us from the void."

Furion mused, "What about a teleport insertion?"

Persion replied, "Not possible, the energy build-up can't be hidden by Reflex Shields. We're already running on minimal power as it is."

"Ram them," barked Lorath, "Use the Thunderchild as a battering ram and board directly."

Furion shook his head, "Not viable, the chances of making contact without being detected are practically nil. The Thunderchild would be blown apart by their guns before we could board."

"What we need is something smaller," suggested Sergeant Matheus, "Something too tiny to trigger an alert and low-powered to evade detection."

Toran nodded and said, "That was my conclusion too, which is why we're going to jump into the void."

"Jump," questioned Mylos, "On inertia alone?"

"Yes," answered Toran, "The Thunderchild will make one close pass and we will drift over, on inactive mode to avoid detection."

"Inactive," said Furion, "So no life support?"

Toran answered grimly, "Minimum heating only to keep out the void-chill, a single spark more will trigger the auspex."

Novak interjected, "I hope everybody knows how to hold their breaths."

Nobody chuckled at that, the situation being too grim for mirth. Furion asked, "What is our projected intercept velocity?"

Toran's face fell and he said, "Thirty metres per second." That brought gulps, it was a speed that would break the spines of any mortal who attempted it, this would be testing the Astartes to their limits.

"So we drift over as dead weight and hope not to glance off into space," Mylos spat insolently, "That's your plan?"

"Yes," answered Toran sternly, "Now we are barely two hours out, I suggest you all make ready."

Then the meeting broke up, everybody going to check and recheck their gear and Persion muttered under his breath, "Well… this should be different."


	3. Chapter 3

**Venenum Filios Chapter 3**

Space looked like a large bruise, a faint stain spread across the stars. This was the Serrati Stellas, the worst knot of gravitic anomalies, ionic interference and warp squalls in the sector. A perennial problem for the Saint Karyl Trail, for it was home to Orks, pirates, slavers and worse.

Persion could see it from where he was standing, mag-clamped onto the side of the Thunderchild's hull. The icy grip of space embraced him, held at bay by his armour's internal systems and his breath echoed in his ears. All around him Storm Heralds were waiting, each one lost in his own thoughts. There was no vox-chatter amongst them; they could not risk a stray signal penetrating the Reflex Shields.

It seemed strange to Persion that they were practically invisible; to him the operation of the stealth technology was undetectable. Those eldritch shields were definitely in place though; the fact that the starfort hadn't ripped them to shreds yet was all the proof they needed of that. Persion squinted as he sought the target but in space-terms the human eye was ridiculously inadequate.

Persion could see the small planetoid the target was orbiting, illuminated by the cool light of a white dwarf star. It was a barren husk, bereft of atmosphere, a dead rock in space. The Thunderchild was drifting closer to that planetoid, letting inertia carry it, unwilling to risk even the most minimal bursts of engine power.

Persion glanced at a countdown in his vision and reviewed the plan. The Thunderchild would drift close to the enemy starfort, then at the right moment the Space Marines would jump into the void and coast over. To facilitate this each marine had been equipped with a void harness, a tiny thruster to direct their course. This was slaved to the Machine Spirits, the jump had to be timed down to the picosecond, not even Transhumans could do that.

Persion was trying not to count the number of things that could go wrong but he was failing. They could be a fraction of a degree off course and miss entirely, they could hit the starfort at speeds that would liquefy them or they could let slip a stray emission and be blasted by a roused enemy. Persion had faced death countless times, it was what he was designed for, but he had always had a weapon in hand and a foe before him. He loathed placing his fate in the hands of random chance, better to fight destiny head-on than idly wait for the outcome.

He was distracted by a blinking light in his vision, the signal to move. Silently he disengaged his mag-clamps and drifted free of the hull, along with the rest of his Company. Over a hundred Space Marines hanging helplessly in the void like leaves on a pond. Then Persion felt a kick in the rear as his void harness fired.

As one the Storm Heralds shot forward, propelled away from the Thunderchild at a mathematically perfect vector. There were a few moments of tugging and pulling as the void harness corrected microscopic imperfections in its course and then it cut out, going still and cold. Persion felt himself become weightless, utterly still and calm. It felt like he wasn't moving but he knew that he was in fact soaring along at a remarkable clip.

There was a single blip in his vision and Persion began to inhale, sucking air from his armour's oxygen recycling system to fill his multi-lung. He could feel the organ expanding within his chest, pushing his additional implants up against his ceramic ribcage as it swelled. The third lung could hold a store of air within itself, allowing a Space Marine to hold his breath for an extraordinary length of time, but this jump would push it to the limit.

Barely had Persion finished when his armour shut down, cutting off life support, motive power, autosenses and vox systems. Only the barest pulse of heat bled into his limbs but otherwise he was encased in a dead suit. The void harness went dead too, there would no more course corrections, no braking thrust, either they hit their target perfectly or they drifted off into space never to be seen again.

Persion knew he was being crazy but he swore that he could feel his vat-grown teeth itch as he passed through the Thunderchild's Reflex Shields and out into open space. They were drifting freely now, their only protection their minuscule size and lack of power. Even now powerful auspex sweeps would be scouring the void, looking for dangers but they should appear to be nothing more than micro-meteors or void debris. If not then the first thing they would see would be the starfort's point defences letting rip and blasting them from the void.

For long minutes Persion coasted along, his multi-lung trickling oxygen into his bloodstream. Around him the crowd of Space Marines drifted apart, microscopic differences in their thrust translating into noticeable changes in direction. There was nothing to be done though, save trust in the Machine Spirits and carry on. As the minutes eked past and Persion's lungs began to itch he picked out a speck in the distance, the target at last closing into visual range. It grew swiftly in their sight, forming out into a large cross shape encapsulated in a ring of iron. Persion saw that the starfort was slightly off axis compared to them, making it seem as if they were dropping onto it from above, not that up or down meant anything here.

Details resolved as they closed, the sunlight illuminating stacked rows of gun decks, towering repair shops and rows of Vox and auspex arrays. There was also a ring of docks surrounding the starfort, easily able to berth a dozen of the largest Battleships. It was a wonder from a forgotten age yet for all its power this Starfort looked somewhat dilapidated. Whole sections were dark and cold, rents in the hull were unrepaired and much of it showed evidence of cosmic weathering from the solar winds. It really did look ten thousand years old and it carried every hour of that upon its hide.

Persion tensed as he saw that they were drifting down upon a saw-toothed battlement, a rampart in the spine of the Starfort. It was swelling and growing in his vision at a fantastic rate, creating the illusion that he was dropping onto a pointed mountain ridge. He desperately wanted to fire his void-harness and slow down but dared not, the smallest emission could give them all away.

Persion clamped his jaw shut and waited for impact, counting down the seconds. Then at the last possible instant he diverted power from his heating to motive systems, letting him move his limbs. The battlement rushed up at him and then he hit it, smashing into the crenulation in a silent crash. Persion almost gasped as the force of the impact reverberated through him, the rampart smashing into him like a freight train. Stars flashed before his eyes and he felt his bones creak from the strain as they took the full force of the collision. His internal organs moved within him as he felt his hearts impacting into his ribs and his eyeballs trying to break out of their sockets.

It was a dazing blow but it was not the worst danger, for he had hit the parapet at a forty-five degree angle and the blow had made him glance off to skitter across the surface. Persion fought the urge to engage his mag-boots and instead grasped at a passing railing as it hurtled past. His hand was too slow and it flew tantalisingly out of reach as he hurtled along. Next to him he saw a Brother bounce off a wall back into space, he didn't know who it was but they had just had their death sentence sealed, there would be no rescue for whoever it was.

Persion resisted the impulse to panic as he began to slide away, facing the prospect of a cold, slow death in the void. Then at the last moment he felt another impact as he crashed into a free-standing vox array, almost doubling him over. He hastily grabbed it with both hands and felt his shoulders scream as he transferred his velocity into the metal but then at last he was still.

Persion looked up, seeing the Company scattered across the battlement, their formation being lost in the drift. There was no way to tell if everybody had made it, no way to count how many had been lost to the void. It hardly mattered now, they were here but still in danger. In order to move they had sacrificed what little heat they had, it was now a race to see what killed them first. Suffocation or the ultimate cold of space.

Persion felt his limbs growing numb and his lungs itched to draw breath but he pushed the sensation down and began to move, racing hand over hand down the slope. The Company had to reach an airlock fast, before they succumbed to oxygen deprivation. Persion saw a red flash as Captain Toran made a hasty exit, pulling himself hand over hand down the flanks of the rampart.

In a swarm the Storm Heralds followed him, pouring down the fortification in a blue wave. Persion went along and as he did so he felt his lungs burning, his implants reaching the limits of tolerance. He ached to open his mouth and breathe but dared not, his armour was yet inert and the oxygen recycling systems were dead. To breathe would be to die and the numbing cold bit hard into his limbs. The temptation to awaken his armour was a constant nag but they dare not risk it, the surge of hundred plates powering up would be unmistakable.

Persion's vision was going grey and his head swam but he swiftly descended down the flanks of the rampart. If this base followed standard patterns there should be an airlock ahead, if not… well best not to dwell on that. Persion's eyes were watering now, his thoughts were coming sluggishly and the urge to breathe was burning his throat. A single breath his soul begged, just one, but he refused. He would not tolerate weakness and he would die before his will broke.

Suddenly Toran stopped, Persion peered around him and he was elated by what he saw: a maintenance airlock. As black spots flashed before his eyes he followed the Captain to the door and saw it slide invitingly open. Yet there was a problem, the airlock was tiny and slow, no way could they cycle a hundred Astartes through it before they suffocated. Toran stabbed a small knife into the outer door's runnels to keep it open as Persion moved inside. He grabbed the inner door with hands like blocks of ice and heaved, pulling for all he was worth. Unfortunately the airlock was not designed to open both doors at once and it resisted. Persion doubled his efforts, fighting his sluggish plate as much as the door but it would not budge. Persion wanted to scream in frustration, they couldn't have come all this way only to fail here.

Suddenly a large hand grabbed Persion and pulled him out the way, it was Furion and he wasted no time slipping inside. He braced himself into the airlock and then heaved. The door which had resisted Persion's best efforts was helpless to resist the Sergeant's immense strength and it slid open, blasting air out from within. Furion stood there, holding the hatch open as the first Brother slipped past him and then the rest in quick succession. Persion had enough honour not to be the first inside but he was far from the last. He pulled against the torrent of wind and hauled himself into a modest maintenance bay as the rest followed.

An eternity crawled by as the Company entered the base but then at last they were all inside. The door slipped shut as Furion fell forward and the wind ceased to blow. Persion desperately opened his helm's external vents and gasped as pure, blessed air filled his lungs. He lay there for long moments, coughing and wracking his chest, his implants struggling to restore him as his armour began the laborious task of waking up.

Slowly colour bled back into the world and he sat up. From afar he heard Novak spit, "I never want to do that again."  
Persion wholeheartedly agreed but Captain Toran staggered up on wobbly legs and called, "What are you all lying about for, there's a battle to be won yet!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Venenum Filios Chapter 4**

The knife came at Persion's head and he was forced to jerk aside at the last moment to avoid it. The blade scored across the cheek of his helm, eliciting a snarl of frustration from its wielder. Persion blinked and took in his opponent, a vile Chaos Marine in scaled plate holding a knife carved with dark runes.

Persion felt the hatred burning in his hearts, the distillation of ten millennia of war imprinted into his mind by ancient Hypno -indoctrination but reinforced by personal experience. Persion had faced these enemies before and he hated them for their treachery, for their many atrocities but most of all he hated them for their stubborn refusal to lie down and die.

Persion swung his Friction-axe but a slight tremor in his arm threw off his line of attack and the Traitor ducked. Instantly the Chaos Marine sprang at him, knife extended but Persion caught it in the palm of his augmetic hand and stopped the blow. The foe reacted swiftly, twisting about but Persion was faster. He swung his axe in a wide sweep, catching the fiend in the waist and carving him into two. The Chaos Marine fell in two halves, at last reaping the rewards of his heresy and Persion shook his hand. The jump through the void must have taken more out of him than he realised, for his body still felt cold and his organic hand wouldn't stop twitching. He knew that his gene-forged physiology would restore itself eventually but it seemed to be taking its damned time today.

Persion looked about seeing the Storm Heralds battling on. They had split up after entering the starfort, breaking up into teams to fight their way around the gun decks and cripple them one by one. With customary speed they had stormed the defences, wreaking havoc and sowing carnage wherever they went. The cultist crew had been slaughtered in droves and deck after deck had fallen to the Storm Herald's advance, then the Alpha Legion had struck back.

Currently Persion was with Captain Toran's command squad, backed up by Sergeant Matheus' Tacticals. They had made good progress until they had run right into a squad of Chaos Marines. The Traitors coming at them were bedecked with scales and icons of hydras but these were laid over older marks of allegiance. Winged skulls, iron masks, jaws devouring worlds and burning daemon heads, whatever their current allegiance these Traitors had not always been Alpha Legionnaires. The Traitors were outnumbered two to one by the Storm Heralds but they weren't going down easy; in fact the Loyalists seemed to be having trouble finishing them off.

Persion realised that he wasn't the only one wearied by the void jump; it must really have hit them hard. Persion saw Captain Toran swinging the Sword of Thiel in wide sweeps, overextending slightly. He caught a single Traitor in the chest and cut him down but it was clumsily done and the blade looked heavy in his hands. Persion glanced at the blade, the most revered relic of the Storm Heralds, passed down hand to hand from the mythic Aeonid Thiel who had received it from the hand of the Primarch himself. Persion's own Friction-axe shared that noble legacy but could not claim such an awed history. Like most things in the Imperium, his weapon was a copy of a copy of a copy.

Next to the Captain Novak was duelling a turncoat one on one, deflecting blows over and over with his combat shield while he tried to counter with his power sword. Eventually he cut the betrayer down with a thrust into the eye but Persion had never seen him have so much trouble with a single Chaos Marine before. Across from them Jediah and Furion were working together, flanking an Alpha Legionnaire and isolating him from the rest. They trapped the fiend on two sides and Furion smashed him with a blow to the head while Jediah stabbed him from behind with his Fractal-edged short sword. Two of them to take down one Traitor, a poor showing.

The only one who seemed to be acting normally was Bylan, swinging the haft of the Company Standard like a polearm. He used a two-handed grip to beat open an opponent's defence then effortlessly switched to a one-handed grip as he drew a bolt pistol to blast the Alpha Legionnaire in the faceplate. Persion guessed that Bylan's augmetic lungs had coped better with the trauma of void exposure than their organic ones. His recovery was far faster than theirs, but really this was taking too long. They should all be restored by now.

Persion was distracted as one of the last two Traitors standing came at him with a twisted knife. Persion snarled when he saw the turncoat's markings covered up a hacked out Ultima icon. His hatred surged to new heights as he realised that this betrayer had once been Ultramarine, the noble sires of the Storm Heralds themselves. This fiend had spat upon the finest of legacies, were there no lows that the Traitors would not sink to?

Persion swung his Friction-axe but the Traitor swayed back out of the way, then a counter strike scored over Persion's breastplate but fortunately failed to penetrate. Persion pulled back, waiting for his opportunity. Axe work was a delicate balance of speed and power, a dance of strikes where timing was everything; he had to wait for just the right moment to attack.

The Traitor hissed and lashed out but Persion deflected the blow with the flat of his axe and knocked the turncoat back. His boot flashed up and caught the Alpha Legionnaire dead centre, sending him flying. Persion saw his opening and was about to attack, intending to end this with one massive blow but then something totally unexpected happened, something that had never happened before.

A strange cramp seized Persion's guts and wracked his frame with debilitating spasms. His belly seized and stabbed sharp agony into his torso as his stomach clenched and tried to regurgitate its contents. Persion hadn't felt such weakness since his gene-forging and he had to fight the urge to double over in pain. The Traitor saw his moment of distraction and took advantage, diving in to score his twisted knife across Persion's helm. Persion threw his head back and barely avoided having his eye gouged out. His left hand trembled so he hurriedly switched his Friction-axe to his augmetic right hand. He let the Traitor's blow sweep past him then leaned in and swung the axe hard. It caught the Traitor in the crook of his neck and the red-hot axe seared through the ceramite, scything him apart. The ersatz Alpha Legionnaire fell to the ground in a gory heap and was at last still.

Persion had no time to celebrate though for his limbs were wracked with seizures and his guts were churning. He felt a wave of bile travelling up his throat and he felt a desperate urge to get his helm off. He reached up and fumbled with the clasps, jerky fingers unable to release the seals for long moments. Then at last it tore free, just as Persion fell to his knees and vomited up a stream of acidic bile that hissed upon the deck. Persion's hands went limp and his axe fell to the deck, he knew that he should be shamed by that, to lose one's weapon carried grave penance but he couldn't stop throwing up. Over and over Persion heaved up his guts, voiding his stomach until he was empty. He wiped his chin with the back of a hand and felt a rush of prickly heat across his forehead and an itchy burning in his eyes.

Persion's thoughts seemed to be coming slowly but he looked about the gun deck, seeing the other Storm Heralds similarly affected. Blue-clad warriors were strewn everywhere, with helms off as they heaved up their guts and collapsed under their own weight. They rolled on the floor, trembling and shaking like newborns, many had lapsed into unconsciousness and a few were thrashing like they were having seizures.

Persion had never seen anything like it, the Emperor had designed the Astartes to be strong and inviolate, this sort of weakness was alien to their nature. Nothing should be able to affect their gene-forged biology, never had they all been laid low at once and never by such strange symptoms. Everywhere Storm Heralds fell down, dropping their weapons and groaning weakly. Everybody had been affected; all of them save one.

Alone in a corner Brother Bylan fought on, duelling the last Traitor standing. He was alone, unsupported and yet he was undaunted. Bylan was unaffected that was significant Persion knew, but he couldn't quite get his mind to complete the thought, his brain seemed to be filling up with a muffling fog and his vision was narrowing. He watched as Bylan swung the Company Standard, the adamantium haft catching the fiend under the chin and knocking his head back. Quick as a flash Bylan shot the cur through the neck with his bolt pistol, letting the last Traitor fall down dead. Something told Persion he should be congratulating his Brother but right then nothing could have moved him from that spot.

Bylan looked about in confusion, seeing the Storm Heralds strewn about in various states of distress, he saw Captain Toran down on his hands and knees and ran over calling out in worry, "+Captain are you alive, what's going on?+"

Toran looked as bad as Persion felt but the Captain gritted his teeth and with a gurgling rattle spat two words, "Bio… Weapon."

Persion heard the words and somewhere in his sluggish mind he knew what they signified. An impulse told him he needed to relay the message, get the word out but he couldn't get his voice box to work, all he could do was hang onto the deck and fight to stay conscious. The world was spinning around him and Persion felt like he was back in space once more. Could it be, his addled mind pondered, had he been lost in the void. Was he even now drifting off into the darkness, his feverish mind conjuring illusions in its last moments?

It was at that moment that there was a roar from beside him and a sudden blur of movement. Persion looked over and saw Brother Pelial of Matheus' squad rear up, his hands locked about the gorget of his armour as if trying to rip it free. Pelial was screaming in agony, his face bored through by thick red veins which were turning black even as Persion watched. Pelial's eyes were bulging from their sockets, swelling and turning red as blood poured from his tear ducts.

Pelial screamed in a hoarse voice and clawed at his neck, then he choked on a glut of bile. Pelial convulsed helplessly, then he went limp and the light fled from his eyes. He fell over and hit the deck face first, already dead before he was even prone.

Persion knew he should be distressed but his emotions seemed to have stopped working. He was lost in a grey and bland world of muffling fog. As if from a great distance he heard Bylan shouting, "+Bio-hazard alert! All Storm Herald forces come in, I am declaring a Bio-hazard alert. Wherever you are, engage void-seals protocols immediately. Do it, do it now before you are affected!+"

But Persion wasn't listening anymore; the blackness of sleep was looming up within him and carrying him away to a place of dreamless slumber. He collapsed onto the deck, already falling into unconsciousness and in moments he was blind and deaf to this world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Venenum Filios Chapter5**

Beep-beep, the noise went right in his ear, beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep. It was repetitive and loud and extremely annoying. It cut through the fog of sleep and stirred sluggish thoughts into motion. He tried to fend it off, to sink back into the soft clouds of slumber but the noise wouldn't stop. It jostled the idle mind over and over, causing him to climb back to the waking world.

As he stirred memories began to filter in, his name was Persion, he was a Storm Herald and a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes. With that thought his will returned, the diamond-hard spirit of his soul, the fire that had driven him to feats of epic proportions. Memories returned in a flood now, spilling into his mind and he knew the time had come to act. Persion gathered his might; he summoned all his strength and focussed his will into one titanic effort.

Then he opened his eyes.

A blur of white appeared before him, a long smear of uniform colour. Persion struggled to focus upon it but it refused to be anything other than bland whiteness. After a few seconds Persion realised that there was nothing wrong with his vision, the whiteness was exactly as it should be, because it was a ceiling tile. Persion turned his head slightly, sending a throb of pain through his skull as he looked about. Persion found that he was lying upon a med-slab, one of the special units that filled the Chapter's Apothecarions. He was surrounded by devices, pumps and monitors, connected to his neural interface sockets by long lines. It was these devices that were making all the noise, measuring the rhythmic double-heartbeat of an Astartes. Persion also appeared to be naked, having been stripped out of his amour and laid out bare.

Persion had no idea how he had come to be here, how his armour had been removed. The last thing he remembered was the assault upon the Alpha Legion base and then… then a strange malady, a confused impression of dizzy blurs and weakness. Persion was repulsed by the thought, weakness was anathema to an Astartes' nature and he would not tolerate it. Persion was stirred to move by the thought, reaching up to yank the lines from his flesh. His organic hand fumbled and shivered but thankfully his Augmetic one was sure and firm and he soon pulled himself free. Persion sat up, head feeling the same size and weight as a Baneblade, yet he forced himself upright with a nauseated grimace.

Persion looked around the room, seeing that he was indeed inside an Apothecarion, one that he assumed was back on the Thunderchild. In the room were a dozen Med-slabs, all pristine and white and sterile. Most of them were empty but one was occupied by the recumbent form of Captain Toran. Persion swung his legs about and dropped to the floor, his knees almost gave way beneath him but he forced them to lock with a labour of will. He set one foot forward and staggered forward, holding onto passing Med-slabs as he went, Astartes he may be but he wasn't keen to fall over right now.

He made his way over to the Captain and saw that he was festooned with lines and drips as Persion had been. The warrior's hearts skipped a beat but then he saw Toran's chest rise and fall and he sighed in relief, his Captain still lived. Toran looked unusually pale and clammy, yet around his augmetic red eye and numerous scars were a tracery of veins, making his face look like a cracked vase. Persion didn't understand what was going on but he was saved having to puzzle it out by a voice behind him saying, "+What do you think you're doing?+"

Persion glanced behind him and saw Bylan standing in the open doorway, looking irritated. Persion saw that he too was out of armour, exposing the horrific extent of his augmentic implants, but he looked far healthier than the Captain appeared or Persion felt.

Persion ignored the query and asked, "How is he?"

Bylan sighed and answered, "+Stable, he was one of the lucky ones… or maybe I should say unlucky+"

Persion didn't follow and said, "What happened to us?"

Bylan replied, "+I think I better let Memnos explain that, wait here and touch absolutely nothing. I'll let him know you're up+"

Persion watched Bylan disappear and waited a moment. Then he shrugged and tottered over to a locker on the wall and began to rummage through its contents. Persion had never been one for petty rules and pointless protocols, a fact that had got him in trouble more than once as a Scout. He had never broken any edicts or commands but if he couldn't see the point of a rule he really hadn't bothered with it.

His cavalier attitude to proper comms protocols had been as troubling as it was useful, he would have made a fine Consul of Signal (as the old Legions would have put it) but his habit of listening into officer level feeds had been bothersome. The Masters had despaired as to what to do with the youth, his skills too valuable to waste but his habits demanding reprimand. Eventually they had settled on relegating him to the Reserves, where he couldn't get into too much trouble. He would have stayed there too had Toran not elevated him, letting him rise higher than he had ever expected.

Persion's search soon bore fruit in the shape of a short robe. He shrugged it on and as he did so there was a noise at the door. He saw a group of Astartes entering the room, led by Apothecary Memnos. The healer looked as bad as Persion, boasting dark rings under his eyes which were bloodshot. He was not alone either for with him came the rest of the Command Squad. Furion was walking with a slight limp, his arms held a little too close to his chest. Jediah looked surer but his face was covered by a livid purple mark, one that extended down his neck onto his chest. Novak's face could hardly look worse than it already did, but there was a swelling in his flesh, like fluid building up under the skin.

Memnos tutted when he saw Persion was up and about, he shook his head and declared, "I should have known you wouldn't stay put."

Persion replied, "I got bored."

Memnos drew a syringe from his belt and walked over, he yanked on Persion's arm and stabbed promptly into a muscle as he muttered, "Emperor save me from pig-headed fools. There, that should stabilise the worst of the symptoms for now."

Persion felt a little better after the injection and asked, "Symptoms of what?"

Memnos hesitated but Furion stated, "Might as well tell him, it will come out eventually."

Memnos rubbed his weary eyes and explained, "We were hit with a virus, a tailored bacteriophage that attacked our genetic upgrades and caused mutations in the base genome."

Persion didn't understand how that was possible and he said, "But that's impossible, the Emperor designed us himself. We are immune to all forms of disease and chemical attack. Nothing short of Warp taint can overcome His genius."

Memnos spat, "Well this can, it was incredibly specific and tailored to our unique gene-seed. The Phage bears genetic hallmarks of artificial crafting; someone went to immense trouble to make this thing. It must have taken them decades to make… centuries even."

"A trap," Persion breathed as understanding dawned, "Zerban led us into a trap."

"Maybe not deliberately, it's unclear how much he knew," Furion stated, "But yes, the whole Starfort was saturated in the Phage. It was in the air, the second we took our first breath we were all contaminated."

Persion glanced over to the side and asked, "So why wasn't Bylan affected?"

Memnos sadly explained, "The Phage is airborne, it infiltrates the bloodstream through the lungs. But Bylan doesn't have any; his Augmetics caught the microbe and screened it out."

Bylan muttered, "+The Captain's gift saves my life again+"

Novak agreed, "Good job too, the whole Company was laid out, nobody escaped its touch. Half of them are still in comas, we'd be dead had Bylan not called in the task force to conqueror the starfort, allowing Serf rescue teams to retrieve us."

Persion absorbed that and said, "We're not safe yet, I can still feel its effects."

Memnos shook his head and said, "I can manage the symptoms, let us operate normally but I can't eliminate the underlying cause. I don't know where to begin; this Phage will run its course regardless of anything I can do."

Jediah glowered and asked, "What can we expect?"

It wasn't in the Storm Herald's nature to avoid unpalatable truths so Memnos answered grimly, "The Phage killed Brother Pelial outright but he was especially susceptible, it will take longer for the rest. Some will die quick, some slow but one by one we will all die. First we will feel sick, then the mutations will come, like the worst sort of Chaos blight. A year from now anyone not dead will resemble the most corrupt Traitor. A year after that… there won't be anyone left."

Novak interjected, "This is monumental, the Arch-enemy has a weapon that can wipe out Astartes at will. It will reshape the galaxy; they can obliterate every loyal Space Marine in the galaxy."

It was a rare insight from the usually flippant Champion but Memnos disagreed, "No, this Phage is specifically designed to affect Storm Heralds. There's too much genetic drift between Chapters for it to affect other bloodlines, even those who also claim descent from Guilliman. The Traitors must have acquired a sample of our current Gene-seed to make this work."

Suddenly Jediah spat, "Brother Ophelian, remember what happened to him. He was killed by Vorshaan and his gene-seed stolen, this was the reason why."

"Vorshaan," snarled Persion in anger, "He's been dead six years and still he attacks us from beyond the grave. Will we never be rid of him? "

Furion cut him off saying, "Enough, we are Astartes not whining Ecclesiarchy Priests. We do not cry about our fate, we grasp it with both hands and forge our own path. The question before us is, what do we do now?"

Memnos said, "We can't return home, we would spread the Phage to the whole Chapter."

Novak frowned and asked, "What's stopping the Traitors from spreading the Phage to Lujan II themselves?"

"Absolutely nothing," growled Jediah, "We have to transmit a warning before it's too late."

Bylan spoke up then to say, "+Perhaps we should seek outside help. Somebody must have seen this before, why not call upon the Grey Knights?+"

Despite the severity of the situation Persion felt his lip twitch and everybody sighed at the naive comment. Furion leaned in and gently said, "Bylan… the Grey Knights don't exist. They are a campfire myth, made up to make us feel better. Ask any Inquisitor and they will tell you the same thing."

Bylan looked crestfallen and said, "+But I've heard the legends… +"

"We all have," Persion snorted, "Mythic Super-Astartes made to fight Chaos itself, the Emperor's last work and the Inquisition's secret army. It's all just stories, no more real than the Sanguinor or the Legion of the Damned."

Bylan said, "+But what about their battles over Fenris?+"

Novak scoffed, "You believed that? The Sons of Russ beating up the Inquisition without reprisal. Pure hyperbole probably penned by the Space Wolves themselves, to make them look better."

Bylan sounded crushed as he said, "+Really?+"

Jediah explained, "Inquisitors never agree on anything, they've had actual wars over whether the Custodian Guard wears gold and red or gold and black. So if they all swear that the Grey Knights don't exist then you can take that as writ in stone."

Bylan sighed and said, "+So now what?+"

"Now, we regroup," said a voice from behind them.

Persion turned in surprise and saw Captain Toran stirring, sitting up slowly on his elbows. Everybody hurried over and Bylan called in relief, "+Captain, you're awake!+"

"Obviously," spat Toran rather testily, "I heard everything, we have to act fast."

Furion asked firmly, "What are your orders?"

Toran replied, "Summon everybody who is awake for a briefing, we need to plan our strategy."

It sounded good but Persion wasn't reassured for he couldn't see what they could possibly do to divert their doom. He had the rather sneaking suspicion that the Captain's intent wasn't to find a way to save the Company but rather to find an honourable way to die. But then he reflected that it was probably preferable to the other possible fate laid out before them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Venenum Filios Chapter 6**

In the Thunderchild's Strategium an odd meeting was taking place, the large space between the marble columns filled with Brothers of various character. Many of the Company's Sergeants were still in comas but every squad had been represented by a Brother, along with the entire Command squad. It was only fair, Third Company was facing extinction, all the Initiates deserved to know what they were up against. They stood under the icon of the Aquilla and listened as Captain Toran presented the dire facts to them, drinking in his words.

Persion was looking over the assembly, seeing some faces he knew well and some he barely knew at all. Among the Sergeants who were present were Lorath, Zeax, Matheus and Mylos. Everybody was showing signs of the Phage, one way or another. Red welts, blood-shot eyes, bulging veins, twitches, rashes and boils, there was hardly a symptom in existence that wasn't displayed on somebody in the room. Persion glanced down at his own hands, seeing the faintest speckling of a rash beginning, accompanied by an itching sensation he couldn't shake. He knew it was only going to get worse and he dreaded what was to come after.

Persion was distracted by the voice of Captain Toran concluding his briefing, "So that's the situation."

Mylos was the first to speak saying, "Damn you, you've doomed us all."

That brought stirs around the room, so direct criticism of a Captain was a serious breach of discipline. Yet the protests were feeble and half-hearted, not nearly as loud as they should have been. Toran grimaced and replied, "The enemy attacked us from an unexpected direction, we could never have anticipated this."

Mylos crossed his arms and said, "This is but the latest in a long series of disasters, ever since you became Captain we've lurched from calamity to calamity, bad luck hangs upon you like a rotten stench. With you around the Storm Heralds are cursed, if you weren't Gorgall's favourite then you would have been exiled long ago."

Suddenly the harsh voice of Chaplain Wrethan erupted from his skull-helm as he spat, "Hold your whining tongue Mylos, you sound like a crying Guardsman not a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes. We have no use for curses or luck. Every Chapter faces setbacks on a daily basis, the Storm Heralds are not special in that regard. We do not hold the Captain responsible for the actions of the enemy; they are sly and cunning beyond measure. Focus your hatred upon the true enemy."

Persion saw heads nodding at that declaration but he himself couldn't help but wonder why Wrethan was keeping his helm on. If was an attempt to reassure the rank and file it was failing spectacularly, for he couldn't help but wonder what symptoms the Chaplain was hiding. Mylos settled back with a sneer of contempt but at least he was silent. Then Jediah declared, "If we are doomed to die then I say we go find that slime Zerban, make him bleed before we go."

Furion spoke up to say, "You would have us end our line with an act of dishonour? Attacking the Inquisition would bring shame upon the Storm Heralds. If we are to die then let it be with an act of honour, one last glorious charge to death and glory."

"Yes," interjected Lorath, "They say Cadia is besieged, I say we sail to the Eye of Terror and sell our lives trying to cut Abaddon's throat."

That brought many mummers of approval; a glorious death in pursuit of a forlorn hope was the stuff of legends among the Astartes. To die in such a manner was infinitely preferable to choking upon one's own bile or turning into a spawn. Yet Matheus raised his voice to say, "What of the rest of the Chapter, aren't they in danger too?"

Memnos stepped up and with a click of the vox activated an overhead Hololith, displaying a twisted double-helix array. Nobody here understood the mysteries of genetics and Persion thought that the Apothecary was showing off as he said, "The Phage is utterly deadly to any Storm Herald, the Chapter will have no defence against it. I have sent what little information we have on via Astropath and opened the sealed archives looking for more information but it is scant. If the Traitors attack Lujan II with this bio-weapon they will wipe out the Storm Heralds."

Matheus declared to the room, "Then we have to find a cure, this is bigger than just us, all our brethren are imperilled. What of the Alpha Legion base, there must have been something left there."

Memnos looked forlorn and said, "Servitors scoured the place top to bottom, it was almost deserted. All the key facilities had been stripped bare long before we arrived, they knew we were coming."

"A trap," spat Mylos, "They left just enough forces to lure us in while they took everything of value and fled. The whole base was nothing but a snare."

Matheus protested, "Then let us seek out the Magos Biologis of the Tech-Priests, consult the archives of the Administratum and the greatest medical minds. Somebody must have a cure."

"What is life without honour?" Lorath growled, "I would prefer to die, blade in hand, than spend my last days as a lab rat on some operating table."

Zeax chose that moment to point out, "But what if the Traitors use this Phage on other Chapters, you said all they need is a sample of Gene-seed to adapt it. There is no telling how many Chapters could fall; the whole Imperium is in danger."

Toran shook his head and said, "Would that we could but we have no leads and little time. Perhaps it is best to choose our preferred way to die; we can still make a difference out there before we perish."

Wrethan declared, "It is fitting, one last fight before the End Times claims us. One last stand with death a certainty, no matter the outcome. The Divine-Emperor grants us one final boon, what more could we possibly ask for?"

Matheus wasn't willing to let it go though and said, "We can't just give up, not now. We have to try something… try anything. There must be someone out there who's seen this before, what of the Chapters who are known to have aberrant Gene-seed, maybe they have something useful."

Furion interjected, "Those Chapters hold a dark reputation, we don't want to associate with the likes of them. Let us die with honour not grubbing about in the dark."

Zeax spoke up to say, "Desperate times call for desperate measures, damn reputations and whispered gossip. What good is that if the Imperium falls?"

Wrethan growled, "Watch your tone, such thoughts lead to doubt and association with heretics leads to heresy. Is it not written, better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself."

Memnos broke in to say, "It hardly matters either way, such Chapters are few and far between and most of them are extinct or actively avoid Imperial contact. Look I'll show you what I mean…"

As he said that Memnos started flashing up heraldry into the Hololith, symbols of Chapters long lost or obliterated from history. There was a bird covered in flames, a coiled oceanic predator, a stone gauntlet, a Leviathan rising from the deeps, a golden chalice with three jewels and rays shining from within. As each one joined the Hololith Memnos stated, "Look at this litany of disgrace, ignominy and loss: the Flame Falcons, the Carcharodon Astra, the Sons of Antaeus, the Black Dragons and the Soul Drinkers. All afflicted by aberrant gene-seed, all reviled by the Imperium or forced to live as outcasts. Some were even declared Excommunicate Traitoris and redacted from all but the most sealed archives. Would you have the Storm Heralds become like them?"

Zeax spat, "If it lets us continue the Emperor's wars… then yes."

Toran cut in, "Even if you were willing to do so we have no idea where such Chapters dwell. Searching the galaxy for an impossible dream is no fit use of what little time we have left."

At this point Matheus made a rejoinder but Persion wasn't listening. He had lost all interest in the conversation and was instead staring in stupefaction at the Hololith. He couldn't believe his eyes, the images displayed within soaking up all his attention and sparking a dazzling connection within his mind. Vague memories arose in his mind, images from a hazy childhood, buried under Hypno-indoctrination and a century of warfare. Yet despite that certain things yet stood out clear as day.

Persion leaned over and whispered, "Lorath look at that… Lorath I'm talking to you."

Lorath scowled and said, "Not now."

Yet Persion persisted, "Lorath this is important, do you see what I see?"

Lorath turned impatiently and spat, "What is it?"

Persion nodded at the Hololith and said, "That icon, haven't you seen it before?"

"No, how could I? Its sealed information, I've never seen any of these…." then Lorath froze in shock and he gasped, "Hold on, yes I have. That golden chalice, I've seen it before, when I was a child. How is that possible?"

Persion nodded in agreement and said, "Me also, it was a warning symbol, used by the Elders of Trux to scare us. There was a dark legend, about monsters and something…"

Lorath agreed, "Yes there was a thing… it happened a generation before I was born. We were warned to stay out of… someplace. Gah, I can't remember it was so long ago, memories before ascension are such weak things."

"Excuse me," interrupted the loud voice of Captain Toran, "Is there something you two would like to share with the whole group?"

Persion and Lorath glanced about in surprise, seeing that the whole meeting had paused and everybody was staring at them with a mix of curiosity and outright annoyance. Persion realised that he had broken up the briefing but it was too late to back out now. He drew a breath and said, "Lorath and I, we recognise that symbol. We've seen it before, on Trux, when we were children."

"Wait… what?!" spat Memnos incredulously, "How is that possible, these records are sealed, there's no way you should know any of these icons. Most of these Chapters were subjected to an Edict of Obliteration; only the most high-ranking officers can access this."

Wrethan growled angrily, "Persion, have you been poking your nose in where it doesn't belong again?"

Persion shook his head and said, "No Father, on Trux they don't use written words, they use a form of pictograms. That Chalice symbol is one they use to denote great peril and to warn children away from dangerous locations. It's from a legend about monsters… who came to the world and created a dark, forbidden place."

Mylos snorted and said, "Children's tales and pretty pictures, that's all this is. It's a big galaxy, somebody had to end up using the same image, you're getting all worked up over a coincidence."

Lorath shook his head and said, "A golden Chalice, three jewels and shining rays, its identical. And it's not an old legend either; it was recent, within the last couple of centuries."

"How is that possible, how did the icon of the…" Toran said then he paused and asked the Apothecary, "Who did you say this belonged to?"

"Soul Drinkers," Memnos replied, "A most foul band of Traitors who suffered from rampant mutation once they turned their backs on Terra. Yet when they were brought to justice they claimed to have overcome it, to have cured mutation itself. I saw the trial records in the sealed archives."

Toran nodded and said, "So how did the icon of a dead Chapter become a legend on a back-water world? One well within the Storm Herald's protectorates and sitting at the dead-end of a warp-route."

Matheus spoke up to say, "It's worth investigating."

At this point Mylos spat "You must be joking, we are facing our deaths and you want us to go haring off, chasing down children's tales and legends. This is ridiculous."

Zeax growled at him, "It's a lead, the only one we have. What other options do we have except to go find some big war to die in. Meanwhile our Chapter sits with the hammer of doom hanging over its head."

Furion agreed, "We have to at least try, for our Chapter's sake if not our own."

Mylos sneered at that but at least settled into silence. Meanwhile Toran said, "There will always be a war to die in but Matheus is right, we must try everything else first. It is decided, I will speak to the Navigator and tell him to set a course for Trux, once there we can chase Persion's lead and see what he can find."

Persion gulped as he realised that everybody was looking at him, holding him responsible for this course of action, which meant he would be responsible if it turned out to be a complete waste of time. As the meeting broke up Persion began to really wish that he had just kept his mouth shut.


	7. Chapter 7

**Venenum Filios Chapter 7**

One cannot map the Warp. It was an adage as old as the Imperium itself, a self-evident truth obvious to all. There was no geography in those roiling depths of psychic horror, no constant amid the heaving tides of conscious and unconscious thought, save for the fixed point of the Emperor's Astronomicon on Terra. Even with that steady lighthouse the extra-dimensional plane was by its very nature mutable and unreliable, ever-shifting and liable to change from moment to moment.

The Imperium relied upon the Warp for faster-than-light travel but every starfarer swiftly learned the foolishness of expecting the Empyrean to conform to rational expectations. Nothing could be relied upon; nothing could be taken for granted. Even Navigators, those mutant bloodlines designed for the specific purpose of guiding human starships through the churning insanity, wept for any notion of accuracy or safety amid the living nightmare that was the Immaterium.

Ships could arrive hundreds of light years off course and centuries after they departed, crews could find themselves ageing decades overnight or turned into babes in arms. Worse than that there were terrible things living in those freakish seas, things that hungered for the warmth of living souls and were held at bay only by the gossamer veil of a starship's Gellar field. Armed men would stalk the decks, watchful for signs of incursion and fear clawed at the hearts of even the bravest. And there would be nightmares, constant nightmares, ever present even when awake.

This was the truth of that otherworldy dimension and yet, like everything to do with the Warp, it was also a lie. Despite all the heaving madness and crashing energies there were certain patterns that remained consistent, certain tides and currents that could tentatively be called, 'stable'. The Saint Karyl Trail was such a phenomenon, a cyclical flow amid the crashing energies that had endured for millennia. It was considered as stable as anything could be in those fickle depths and thusly had become a major route of trade, defence and pilgrimage for the Imperium of Man.

It was towards this current that the Thunderchild sailed, edging her way out of the harsh psychic reefs of the Serrati Stellas towards safer shallows. She avoided hazards comprised of a billion children's cries for their mothers and circumnavigated whirlpools birthed by the embrace of a parade of long-separated lovers. She had a narrow escape from an unexpected tidal surge, spawned by the murderous rage of a million jilted wives but managed to break free, none on aboard save the Navigator aware of how close they had come to disaster.

Eventually the Thunderchild left the Serrati Stellas behind and reached the nexus point surrounding Tectum, the confluence of several lesser currents. Here she had a choice, to ride the Saint Karyl Trail towards Segmentum Solar and distant Terra or head into Segmentum Tempestus. A third option was to break away and ride a lesser current towards the galactic core and the war-torn Heraculan Deeps. Yet she chose none of those options, instead tacking onto a tiny tributary that headed towards the galactic rim, this was the cause of no small amount of puzzlement for those observing it.

What the crew of the Thunderchild could not possibly know was that they were being followed, stalked by an implacable predator. This was a feat beyond any human Navigator, following another ship through the Warp was considered next to impossible, but this monster was far from human. It was a leviathan made from Plasteel and Adamantium, vastly eclipsing the Thunderchild in every way imaginable. It was a relic of a lost age, a dinosaur in an age of rodents, a Glorianna class battleship and its name was the 'Shadow of the Emperor'.

Aboard the Shadow's bridge her commander frowned and scratched his chin. His name was Beta, Sorcerer of Chaos, Alpha Legionnaire, commander of this ship and leader of his splinter-cell. Beta was stood within the vast amphitheatre that was the Shadow's bridge, examining a conjuration hanging before him. It was displayed upon a hide of tanned Daemon skin and it was showing the quarry's course, one Beta was most bemused by.

Beta pondered aloud, "Now where are you going?"

Behind him a voice said, "What's happened?"

In the corner of his eye Beta saw his three cell-Brothers standing together. Each one covered with writhing serpents and iconography of the Alpha Legion. Gamma, Delta and Epsilon, just about the only souls he trusted in this galaxy. In a Legion built upon subterfuge and deception there was nothing so valuable and precious as trust, thus it was reserved for the closest of comrades. Beta considered this as he explained, "When we set this trap we assumed the throne-worshipers would have two possible choices. The lapdogs could either run home crying for a cure or go find some big war to get killed in. But they've done neither; they are headed off into the middle of nowhere, rapidly and with great purpose."

Delta looked at the shimmering Daemon skin and asked, "What's down that route?"

Beta answered, "Not much, a few hard-scrabble worlds, the Forgeworld Crux Lapis and the nest of the Xeno Psybrids."

Epsilon muttered, "Psybrids… maybe the lapdogs intend to throw themselves into the jaws of the Xenos."

Beta disagreed, "No, they've been quiet for the last half-century and there are plenty of bigger wars to die in. You know Throne-worshippers, if they are going to die then they like to die as loudly as possible."

Suddenly Gamma spat, "This is a waste of time, we should have killed them when we had the chance."

Beta sighed, for Gamma was a fierce warrior but impatient and short-tempered. Beta explained, "I told you, we need to see the Bio-weapon's progress in action. The Harrowmaster wants data on how it matures in real-world conditions, how contagious it is, we need a field-trial if you will."

There was also another unspoken reason for the trap. It so happened that Beta was the only true son of Alpharius present; the others weren't from the XXth Legion at all. In fact they were genetically speaking Storm Heralds, whelped from stolen gene-seed, the same gene-seed that had made their new bio-weapon possible. Which meant it was as lethal to them as it was to the Throne-worshippers, there was no way these three could have risked entering the Starfort. Gamma wasn't appeased and was about to argue again but at that moment there was a commotion from the Bridge hatch. Beta looked over and saw three towering warriors entering the bridge, three warriors in baroque armour. Beta sighed to himself, recognising a necessary chore approaching.

When his cell had seized this ship from the late Chaos Lord Vorshaan, they had also inherited command of his army. Some three hundred Chaos Marines, as vicious and ruthless a band of honourless cutthroats as anyone could ever hope to meet. The various warriors were a mongrel mix of breeds and philosophies, united only by the promise of violence and plunder. They had sworn subservience to Beta and the Alpha Legion but such fealty was fleeting, lasting only as long as the spoils kept coming and he trusted them even less far than he could throw them. Beta plastered a false smile upon his face and welcomed them with a hail of greeting. The three ignored the greeting and the first called out, "Beta, we need to talk."

This was a strange hunch-backed creature, with large jump-exhausts on his spine. He paced forward upon long curved talons and swayed like a bird as he walked. This was Zhumo, former Night Lord and now leader of the Raptor Cult. As vicious, vain and self-centred a creature as ever stalked the stars, which was why Beta liked him.

Beta asked, "What do you require of me?"

The second was a giant in bulky Terminator plate and he grumbled, "An explanation of why we let the loyalist scum escape for starters."

That was Anurax, a brutal and unsophisticated warrior. A fellow Son of Alpharius, one who had once had a brilliant and devious mind. Sadly an undercover operation with the Iron Warriors had seen him infected with the Obliterator virus. Now he was a walking weapon, seemingly as subtle and refined as a sledgehammer, yet also greatly feared in the ranks. However Beta knew that this brutal display was but a cover, for Anurax was reporting directly to the Harrowmaster: a mole within the ranks.

Beta patiently explained, "We wanted the loyalists to capture the starfort. They are now all infected with the Bio-weapon, their doom is certain."

Zhumo countered, "A starfort, a hefty price to pay for bait."

Beta responded, "Outpost Kappa-23-Tango was used up, it was falling to bits. At best we could have eked out a couple more decades of use from it before we had to abandon it anyway. That's why we left it practically unguarded."

"Not completely unguarded," growled the third warrior accusingly, "You left some Brothers behind."

This was Talgor, an Ultramarine by blood. He was a recent turncoat from Guilliman's pompous martinets, now leader of the mongrel squads. The chance to subvert one of the hated XIIIth Legion was too good to be true, which was why Beta was more suspicious of him than anyone else. Talgor appeared to be honourable, stern and dedicated, all traits unbecoming a follower of Chaos. Yet Beta had seen him commit his fair share of atrocities and he refused to believe that anyone could perform such deeds and yet be honourable.

Beta deflected by stating, "We needed the threat to seem genuine, the loyalists would have been suspicious had we not left a few Chaos Marines behind. It was a necessary sacrifice, one the Alpha Legion would accept without hesitation."

Talgor growled, "Then why didn't you bait the trap with your own blood, why were the eighteen Brother chosen from my ranks?"

Ah of course, Beta thought, Talgor was irate because one of those left behind was his fellow blood-traitor, another turncoat Ultramarine. Beta responded by presenting a data-slate. Talgor took the slate and looked at it saying, "What is this?"

Beta replied, "Evidence that the cull was not arbitrary. I have been watching those so-called Brothers closely and seen their avarice in their eyes. They were plotting to usurp you all, to replace your positions and then mine. I singled them out long ago, so now was the perfect time to eliminate them and cripple the loyalists too. Killing two wastrels with one bolt-round."

Talgor sounded hurt as he thumbed the data-slate and said, "They were plotting against us?"

Beta's suspicions flared, that tone was far too easy to contrive… What was the turn-coat scheming?

Beta covered his suspicions by saying, "It hardly matters now, they are dead and the Bio-weapon is deployed. Some lapdogs will die fast, some slow but they will all die. Once this test is complete we will take this weapon to Lujan II and wipe out the rest of the Storm Heralds. Rest assured, history is on our side."

Zhumo interrupted to say, "Then we claim their spoils for ourselves."

Anurax spat, "Why stop at one, with this weapon we can wipe out any Astartes we choose, Loyal or Traitor. The Alpha Legion will be made supreme among the stars."

Talgor still looked angry but carelessly dropped the data-slate and stated, "Very well Beta, you have our support. Lead us to victory and we will follow."

Beta bowed in humility as they marched off and left the bridge, but inside his head his mind was spinning. Intrigues and deceptions were his meat and drink and these three were growing too confident, too smug for his liking. He decided to keep a much closer eye on them, lest they become a threat to his position. A shame, he rather liked Zhumo, but he wouldn't let that get in his way if they challenged him.

Delta meanwhile picked up the data-slate and scrolled through its contents. He paused it with an armoured digit and asked, "A plot within the ranks… was a single word of that actually true?"

Beta tilted his head and replied, "They will believe it, which should suffice for now."

Epsilon wasn't so sure and asked, "You're sure they will buy it?"

Beta smirked and said, "They will believe it because it is exactly what they would have done in the culled Marine's places."

Gamma snorted in disgust and asked, "Anyway, what are we going to do about the Throne-worshippers?"

Beta returned his attention to his display and he remarked, "I don't like this, their course is too direct, too certain… they are up to something. I think we need to follow them and see what they're planning, history may require a little nudge."


	8. Chapter 8

**Venenum Filios Chapter 8**

Brother Korvano was dead, the call came, he had been lost to the Phage and had passed away right before his squadmate's eyes. The words rang across the vox-net, carrying to the ears of every Initiate on the ship. It echoed in the barracks, it sang through the armouries and training halls, it resonated in the ears of every Space Marines on the Thunderchild.

Persion cursed loudly as the message reached him, instantly alerting him to the dire news. He spun on his heel and set off rapidly, dashing to get to the location as fast as possible. Alongside him ran Bylan, the lone Brother easily keeping pace with the older Initiate and Persion suspected that the healthy Astartes may be slowing down to let him keep pace.

As they ran Persion grumbled, "Damnation, what fool let the word out so blatantly?"

Bylan agreed, "+The Captain told us to keep an eye out, to keep a lid on the tensions. How the hell are we supposed to do that if some idiot blurts out things like this?+"

Persion knew that he was right, tensions were indeed running high and every Storm Herald was feeling the pressure. Over the last few weeks the Company's discipline had frayed, Brothers becoming edgy and temperamental with one another. Once friendly banter had taken on a bitter aspect, training bouts and practice duels had become savage beatings and fistfights were breaking out in the corridors.

Chaplain Wrethan had been run ragged trying to maintain discipline, meeting out arduous penances left, right and centre but it hadn't been enough. To aid him Captain Toran and the Command Squad had taken to patrolling the ship, keeping an eye upon the various squads and spreading themselves everywhere to mediate arguments.

Persion had never seen his kin so fraught and dishevelled, their pride in their bearing withering along with their discipline. The once proud Storm Heralds had become slovenly and lazy, by Space Marine standards, spending time grumbling and arguing when they should have been training. It was the touch of morbidity, Persion realised, the knowledge that they were going to die.

Space Marines were all going to die of course, they were built to sell their lives in battle. Yet such a fate held a certain dignity, to die blade in hand against impossible odds and be revered by future generations was the desire of every Astartes. Not this sickness, not this weak mortality and withering of the flesh, it was almost like ageing. It was galling, it was unmanning and it was inevitable. Was this how mortals felt all the time, Persion wondered.

Though none would admit the clammy grip of fear was circling their hearts, trying to sink dark talons into their souls. It was commonly held that Space Marines knew no fear, which was true to a certain extent, but that did not make the Astartes into automatons. Space Marines were not immune to fear, they were greater than that, they channelled it into action.

Where fear made mortals cower and weep, it merely drove Space Marines to fight harder, empowering them and stoking their rage and hatred to epic proportions. In practical terms what that meant was that the tension was manifesting itself as resentment, spite and ill-will between Brothers.

As they ran Persion reflected that he too was showing signs of stress, the Phage gripping his flesh and grinding at his spirit. His arms were covered in a bright red rash, one that wouldn't stop itching, even his augmetic one. How could an augmetic itch, Persion wondered, but he had no answer. It was all he could do not to tear and gouge at his own flesh, trying to find relief.

To distract himself he asked, "Korvano… please tell I'm wrong in thinking Korvano was in Mylos' squad."

Bylan replied, "+Sorry, but I can't. He's definitely one of Mylos' lot+"

"Great," muttered Persion, "That's all we need."

In a company of irritable and cantankerous warriors, Mylos had managed to stand out as being the worst of the lot. Always a sour and disagreeable malcontent, he had spent the last few weeks becoming an outright agitator. As the Thunderchild made its final approach to Trux his complaints had only grown louder and Persion had desperately hoped that they would return to realspace before he started a genuine fight.

Persion put his head down and doubled his space, his armour plate humming loudly as he ran. Soon the pair approached a mess hall and they burst in, finding nine Astartes stood around the room, in various poses of shock and horror. Spread out upon the floor was Brother Korvano, dead and cold.

Persion took once glance at his face and felt a wave of nausea rise. Korvano's face was swollen and bloated, leaking blood from his eyes and ears. That wasn't what upset Persion though, the worst part was that one side of his face was covered in tiny, perfectly formed feathers, pushing out from the dead skin. Persion was sickened to realise that the mutations had already started to manifest, far faster than any of them had expected.

Persion pulled up and said, "What's going on, who sent out that call?!"

From the back Mylos stomped forward on an augmetic leg, and spat, "I did."

Bylan snarled, "+Damn it, you're spreading alarm and discord. With half the Company still in comas we need to hold ourselves together, the Captain told all the Sergeants to keep a lid on this+"

Mylos sneered, "The Captain, what does he know. He led us into this mess, Korvano died because of his foolishness."

Bylan went very still at that the slur against his personal hero and he growled, "+Do not insult Captain Toran in front of me+"

Mylos leaned in and spat, "Toran is an arrogant glory-hog and doesn't deserve his rank."

Before anyone could react Bylan's fist blurred and smacked Mylos in the jaw, knocking his head back with a shocked expression. There was a moment of stunned silence as the squad struggled to grasp what had occurred, then they all leapt at him, fists and knees lashing out. In moments a scrum of armoured bodies emerged, supposed Brothers battering at each other in full plate armour.

The fight lasted a second then was brought to an abrupt halt by the crashing thunder of a single bolt-pistol shot. Everybody froze and looked to see Persion standing there, holding a smoking pistol aloft to point at the roof. With everybody's attention Persion barked, "This is disgraceful, look at yourselves. Brawling like drunken Fenrisians, you are Storm Heralds, act like it! You're all fortunate that I don't report you to Chaplain Wrethan, as it is you're all to take Korvano's body to the Apothecarion then you are confined to your barracks until we reach Trux. That includes you Bylan."

Bylan looked like he would protest but knew he had erred and trudged out with his head hung low. One by one the rest filed out taking Korvano with them, leaving Persion and Mylos alone. Mylos had the decency to wait until they left then said, "Striking a Sergeant, Bylan must be punished."

Persion holstered his pistol and said, "Give him a break; he's facing his own form of hell."

"Him?" spat Mylos, "Isn't he the only immune to this Phage?"

"Yes," replied Persion sadly, "Which means he's going to have to watch the rest of us die, one by one. If the Phage reaches Lujan II, which we both know the enemy will make a certainty; he may well end up being the last Storm Herald in the galaxy. He will be left alone, the only one to remember our deeds and history."

Mylos blinked at that, the dire fate one he would never inflict upon his worst enemy. Persion watched him sigh and run a hand over his face then Mylos said, "We've been in some tight spots before, but this is the worst. I can't see how we can survive this."

Persion was surprised by the candid admission and said, "We can only trust in the Captain, he's done the impossible before. I know you have bad blood with him… especially since the death of your twin but put that to one side for a moment."

Mylos blinked and said, "Is that what you think this is about?"

Persion didn't follow and said, "I thought…"

"Oh get over yourself," Mylos stated, "I forgave Toran for that long ago. This is bigger than him; he's a symptom of the problem, not the cause."

Persion was confounded and said, "I don't follow."

Mylos sighed and picked up a mug of recycled water, he toyed with it for a moment then slugged it back. As if making a decision he stated, "The Imperium is dying, we all know it to be true. The darkness encroaches from all sides and we are not now that power which in distant ages past drove out. The End Times loom and the High Lords are too weak to repel it. Chapter Master Gorgall too, with his blasted kowtowing to the Lex Imperalis, he's leading us into extinction. If it wasn't this Phage it would have been something else."

Persion was stunned, he had no idea matters of such magnitude had been weighing upon Mylos. He drew in a breath and said, "I know, I've seen it too, but what can we do. We fight as best we can and hold the line."

"I'm sick of holding the bloody line," spat Mylos, "We should be taking the fight to the foe. We should be leading the Imperium back to glory, not those conniving politicians. The Storm Heralds should be forcing humanity onto the true path of strength and faith."

Now it was Persion who blinked and said, "You mean the Emperor-worship, you think that we should be spreading the gospel. Setting ourselves up as priest-kings over humanity."

Mylos shook his head in denial and said, "No, I mean the Storm Heralds should be humanity's guides, we should show them to way to survive. The Imperium will die but we don't have to go down with it, we can make something better in its place. I've tried to tell Toran and the others that the old ways are failing us, that we can't just keep on going as we have been but he won't listen to me. But he might listen to you."

Persion was shocked to hear that and said, "Me, I can't do that."

Mylos stepped forward, a strange light in his eyes as he said, "Yes you could, it could be like the old days. You, me, Furion, together once more, united as one."

Persion shook him off, trying to jest, "To do what, build an empire of our own?"

Mylos replied frankly, "Guilliman would, if he could ever leave his shrine then he would purge Terra of its laxity. He would rebuild the Imperium, restore the glory of the old Legions, start a new Great Crusade. He wouldn't accept this rotten, crumbling prison we have built for ourselves. He would tear it down and build something better in its place."

Persion had only been joking but he was shocked by the scale of Mylos' vision. He could almost see it, a new shining Imperium rising out of the cooling ashes of the old, with the Storm Heralds as leaders, not soldiers. Then he shook it off, it was a pipe-dream, impossible to achieve. Persion said, "Mylos, you've let your mind fill up with dreams and grandiose fantasies. We don't have the power or the time to play empire building; we should be concentrating upon the task before us. Fighting the enemies we have rather than making new ones. "

Mylos practically pleaded now, "Persion don't be short-sighted, we can still turn this around. If you stand with me then we can make the Storm Heralds great once more."

Persion put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Mylos, we can't do anything if we are all dead. We need to focus on the task before us, finding a cure for this Phage, or failing that leaving a legacy of honour. Stop living in tomorrow, put aside these foolish notions and help us here today."

Mylos looked at him for a long moment then sighed, "Yes, of course, it was a mistake to bring this up. I won't mention it again, I stand by you."

Persion was glad to hear that and said, "I welcome that, we all do. Come let us go sort out this bad blood with the squad before this discord sours."

Mylos nodded and together they walked out, side by side for now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Venenum Filios Chapter 9**

From space Trux looked like a flawed emerald. It was a large planet, banded with vast jungles, churning oceans and endless lines of volcanoes and mountain chains. An oversized moon hung in orbit, its disruptive gravity tugging at the planet, causing geological upheaval and surging tides.

No orbital docks circled this world, no defence stations, patrol ships or auspex arrays. Trux was a feral world, its people having long lost all but the most rudimentary technology. The Imperium largely ignored this world, not bothered enough to invest time and resources to lift these people out of barbarism. Few even came here, only the annual tithe ships, occasional tramp traders and the recruitment parties of the Storm Heralds. So Trux spun on, ignoring the wider galaxy and content to be ignored.

Into the atmosphere of this world a flight of Thunderhawks was dropping, hurtling through the inferno of re-entry to soar on the thick air currents below. On board the lead gunship three squads were assembled, Mylos' Lorath's and the Command Squad, along with Chaplain Wrethan and Apothecary Memnos. Mylos had spent the last couple of weeks assisting the Captain to maintain order, a most welcome change that nobody had expected.

In his restraint cage Persion had linked his armour to the gunship's Machine Spirit, peering out through the external pict-imagers. It was technically a violation of protocol, only officers should have that authority but he had never bothered with such petty rules. Other Chapters didn't, he knew, so why were the Storm Heralds so stuffy? Tradition was tradition but sometimes it was just pointless. In every direction stretched an endless jungle canopy, punctured by the occasional mountain peak. Many of these bore ancient signs of habitation, scars and man-made formations from antiquity. Great faces had been carved into the mountains and huge apertures blasted into the peaks, ones that led to vast caverns within. It was widely suspected that Trux had once been a Knight world, but if so then it was a failed one.

When the Imperium first arrived the ancient keeps had all been found to have been abandoned and left derelict. Archeotech treasures had decayed to nothing and any Knight engines had long since crumbled to bits. The human population had been found living beneath the jungle canopy instead, fighting a daily battle to survive in a world of tangled brush, monstrous herbivores and vicious carnivores.

Persion was distracted by a voice from beside him saying, "Glad to be home?"

Persion switched off his pict-feed, seeing Novak stood within his own restraint cage. The Champion sounded like his usual impudent self, his Spirit not ground down by the fraught weeks of Warp Transit. For once it had been welcome, the Company had needed something to lift their morose spirits and Novak had been a welcome beacon of normality. He seemed determined to keep everybody from moping and Persion was glad of his Brother's cheek, he would welcome anything to distract himself from the rash that now covered him head to toe.

Persion drew in a breath and said, "I may have been born here, but it's not my home. The Chapter is my home, the Company my residence. Trux means no more to me than any other world."

Jediah leaned over from his own restraint cage and asked, "So you don't remember it at all?"

"How much of your childhood do you remember?" Persion replied but then he sighed and said, "I remember the jungle and being hunted by vicious predators the size of Rhinos. I remember herding tame beasts of burden, giant Megasaurs, used as a means of defence against the predators as much as a source of labour and meat."

"That's it?" asked Jediah.

Then Chaplain Wrethan's voice arose saying, "The people of Trux are largely nomadic, living in temporary clearings in the jungle with their herds of Megasaurs. They move every few months as the jungle reclaims the land. They trade the flesh of their herds for metal at Imperial trade stations, the only Imperial presence on the planet."

Captain Toran leaned out and asked, "You've been here before then?"

"Once," Wrethan answered, "On a recruiting mission."

Toran asked, "What are the people like?"

Wrethan sounded distant, lost in memory as he said, "Impudent, the people of Trux have no time for politeness or niceties. The daily struggle to survive forges a harsh and direct folk, with no use for dusty rules or lengthy discourse. They love argument and insults and they make it a point of pride not to be impressed by anything. They live in the now, fighting every day to survive. It's why the Chapter values their savagery so much."

Persion realised that Novak was beaming at him and said, "What?"

Novak replied with a grin on his swollen face, "I've just figured out where you and Lorath get your sunny dispositions, it's adorable."

"Oh shut up," replied Persion, secretly glad for the distraction from the constant itching of his skin.

Jediah broke in to inquire, "Do you think they will be able to help us?"

"They better," Wrethan stated, "We didn't come all this way for nothing."

Captain Toran commented, "We'll find out when we reach the Imperial Governor's Palace, if anyone knows where we can start looking it will be him."

Silence fell as they all mused upon this, the unspoken implication being that if this lead went nowhere then they were all doomed. Even now the Phage ravaged at their flesh, each Storm Herald feeling the effects growing worse. They were living under the hammer of doom and there was nothing they could do save wait for it to fall. Eventually the Thunderhawk's engines changed in pitch and they all felt the lurch as it shifted to vectored thrust, coming in to land vertically. As the landing claws touched down the squads were already in motion, running out the hatch to form a perimeter. It was good to see them moving professionally, the prospect of action restoring some of their spirit.

Persion was among them, sweeping the landing field with his bolt pistol. It was a plain and functional Ferrocrete apron, ringed with small shrubs and bushes. It was barely big enough for the handful of gunships and it was bereft of vox or auspex arrays. The whole site was set upon a high mesa, a flat-topped mountain that rose above the jungle like an island in a sea of green. Even at this altitude Persion's armour was registering oppressive, humid heat and that the oxygen levels were abnormally high, a by-product of the endless flora that covered the landmasses.

Novak was looking about, peering at a group of distant buildings on the far side of the Mesa, they were made of stone and not one was more than two-stories tall. Novak sounded confused as he said, "Where's the Lord Governor's Palace?"

Persion commented, "You're looking at it."

"This?" stated Novak incredulously, "This collection of shacks?"

"What did you expect," replied Persion, "This is a feral world not the spires of Tectum."

"This defence is pathetic," Jediah growled, "I could conquer this planet single-handed."

From behind them Captain Toran ordered, "Stow the chatter, the welcoming party is coming."

Persion peered over and saw a large form approaching and his breath caught in his throat. It was a large animal, the height of a Dreadnought with grey scales over a leathery hide. It walked on four legs, each as wide as a Space Marine and boasted a thick tail, with four long spikes sticking out of the end. Its head was covered in a bony carapace, with a beaked mouth, three long horns and a wide frill covering its short neck. Upon its back was a small wooden howdah, which held a party of natives, guiding the beast's path by ropes which were looped through piercings in its bony frill.

Memory flooded back into Persion's mind, he had forgotten the sight of a Megasaur, how could he have possibly forgotten this. Novak sounded astounded as he looked up and said, "That's a Megasaur, Throne's sake, it's huge!"

Persion chuckled and replied, "Novak that's just a calf, a young buck in training. Wait till you see some of the mature ones, then you'll see something really big."

As they watched the Megasaur pulled up at the edge of the landing field. Its handlers let it have its head and it promptly bent to start munching on a bush. As a rope ladder was lowered and a small group of people climbed down off its back the Megasaur lifted a hind leg and let loose a long stream of urine, utterly indifferent to the world around it.

Novak leaned over and whispered with a grin, "Hey Jediah… doesn't that remind you of Camollum?"

Jediah growled irritably, "Novak… shut up."

The party watched as the men and women approached, their pale skin and angular features eerily similar to Persion's. They were, on the whole, shorter than the average Imperial citizen, leaner too and all of them had short dark hair. One of them had a small Aquilla hanging around his neck on a bit of string, but otherwise none of them had any adornments. They wore rough hides and carried short spears, tipped with off-world plasteel knives. The group strode up to the Transhumans, ignored the dozens of Bolters pointed at them and the man with the Aquilla looked up at them and without preamble declared, "You're early, we weren't expecting you for another season."

Even Persion blinked at the gruff greeting, the people of Trux really didn't believe in politeness. Wrethan replied equally gruffly, "We didn't come here for recruits, we are on a mission."

The man looked at him and said, "Is that you Wrethan, still hiding behind that skull-mask eh. I'll double my last offer, two Megasaurs for that pretty bucket."

Wrethan almost sounded amused as he said, "As I told you before Hallap, it's not for sale."

From behind the man an unusually plump woman called, "Why not introduce yourself first."

Without looking back the man cursed, "Dammit woman, I was just about to do that. This is man's work; keep your nose out of it."

Persion blinked but nobody seemed moved by the insult. Instead the man declared, "So let's get this over with, I'm Hallap and I happen to be Governor of this flea-bitten pit. That is my wife Shuea, First Lady of Trux."

Wrethan replied, "May I present Captain Toran and his company."

Hallap didn't seem impressed by the towering, armed warriors all around him and he looked them over one by one taking in their faces. Hallap paused when he saw Persion and he said, "You, you're a local lad aren't you. Taken in the Great Trials to fight for the Sky-Emperor among the stars… but what have you done to your face?"

Persion realised that his rash was showing. The Phage was a matter for the Chapter alone and so he hastily stammered, "I… I walked into some nettle weeds."

Hallap shrugged and said, "Aye, they'll do that."

From the back Shuea interrupted, "You haven't asked why they're here yet."

"Accursed harridan, let a man talk!" yelled Hallap with no real rancour, then he said blandly, "So if you're not here for our sons, why did you come?"

Toran pulled free a data-slate from his belt, showing an image of a Golden Chalice and said, "We are looking for this."

Hallap peered at it for a moment then said, "Well… I think you've come a long way for nothing. That's just a glyph, a warning symbol from some old legend. Maybe it meant something once but there's no one alive today who would know."

Persion's hearts sank, it looked like this had been a complete waste of time. However Shuea interjected, "Why not ask the star-speakers, they have the oldest of the old among them."

Hallap barked, "Blasted nag, don't interrupt me!"

However Wrethan asked, "Star-speakers?"

Hallap sighed, "Astropaths you call them, we don't let them live here among decent people. They have to live in one of the old Keeps, away from everybody. You can't land there but it's only a couple of hours away by Megasaur."

"Very well," Toran declared, "Bring forth your steeds; we will speak with the Astropaths."

Hallap shrugged and set off without even saying goodbye, the natives following in his wake. Novak however was staring up at the Megasaur and said, "You want us to ride on one of those… are you serious?"

Persion grinned and said, "Don't worry, they don't bite. Just don't let one step on you and you'll be fine."


	10. Chapter 10

**Venenum Filios Chapter 10**

Through the thick jungle came the thunder of crashes and tearing wood, the screech of roots ripping out of the wet ground and the thuds of boughs hitting the ground. Small animals and birds fled before the oncoming destruction, racing to get away from the wave of devastation. It moved inexorably, neither pausing nor relenting, nothing slowed it and nothing could stand before it.

The cause of this destruction was a line of gigantic beasts, huge animals whose bulk and weight spelt doom to any obstacle before them. They were Megasaurs, half a dozen of them, moving through the jungle like ships breaking through waves. These were fully mature adults and they were truly huge. They boasted legs wider than any tree trunk and their heads ploughed into the jungle canopy, pushing it aside with ease.

These animals did not need to walk around trees or copses, they simply went straight through them. Between their bony skulls and massive legs anything they hit simply went over, torn in two or crushed underfoot. They left a wide trail of destruction in their wake, a long line of broken boughs and toppled trees, creating a trail a blind man could follow. On each of their backs were wooden howdahs, broad platforms which currently held the weight of the Storm Heralds. The unvarnished wood creaked and groaned under the weight of armoured Transhumans but it was holding, for now. So huge were these Megasaurs that each one could hold a whole squad of Astartes above the canopy and between them they carried all the Storm Heralds who had woken up in time to come to the planet, some sixty Brothers.

On the back of one Megasaur Persion was standing with his weapons in hand. He swayed slightly with the motion of the beast, but it was no worse than a boat on the ocean wave. It was standard protocol to be armed in hostile territory, a practice he agreed with for they must be ready for action in a heartbeat. So the squads stood in a ring, facing out in all directions with weapons ready. Persion was alert but the Megasaur's sheer bulk and height sent most creatures into a panic. Not even the most vicious local predator, of which there were many, dared to face these beasts. Taming these beasts was how humanity had survived on this harsh planet, thriving amid the damp boughs and teeming dangers.

Persion breathed deeply and his nose filled with the overpowering scent of oozing sap and squashed leaves, creating a thick mix of wet smells. His enhanced senses told him that the local wood was damp and pliable, easily broken but fast growing. He knew in a few weeks the jungle would have grown back and the trail they were leaving would be completely erased. No wonder the local inhabitants were nomadic, if they stopped anyplace too long the jungle would reclaim their homes from under them.

Persion felt memories stir within him, triggered by the cloying scents. Long lost childhood moments, fighting with siblings, grubbing for tasty insects in the underbrush, running from fast predators in the darkness. For a moment he considered that he might still have family out there somewhere, then he shook it off. He was an Astartes, the Storm Heralds were his family now and evermore. Besides he had been fighting for the Emperor for just over a century and a half, the chances of anyone he used to know still being alive were vanishingly small.

He was distracted by the voice of Novak saying, "This is strange, I can't imagine a more bizarre way to get around."

Persion commented, "Be grateful, it keeps the carnivores away. Without these we would be attacked every step of the way, it would take days to make this journey. Even for us."

Novak said, "It just feels wrong."

Persion snorted in derision and said, "Now you know how I felt the I first time I stepped onto a boat. All that open water on Lujan II, it was the most shocking thing I had ever seen."

Their conversation was interrupted by Brother Jediah calling, "Captain, I request permission to take the reins."

Persion didn't take his eyes off the jungle but he heard Toran sound surprised as he said, "For what purpose?"

Jediah responded, "To learn how to do it."

Wrethan's voice growled, "We are not here for your amusement, an Astartes' duty is a most serious calling, we do not indulge in personal frivolities."

Jediah however countered, "My concern is tactical, if these mortal guides get themselves killed then we must have Brothers experienced in handling these beasts."

Toran's voice hid an undercurrent of amusement as he replied, "Ah yes, sound tactical thinking Brother. Very well you may drive for a bit."

Persion glimpsed over and saw Jediah eagerly stow his bolt pistol and Fractal-edged short sword. He practically leapt to the front and elbowed aside the mortal steering the Megasaur, taking up the ropes with gleeful élan. He held the reins tightly and focused on the path, eagerly steering the Megasaur into the largest trees he could find, knocking them over one by one.

Persion looked back outwards but then Furion leaned over and whispered, "I do believe that's the first time I've seen Jediah enjoying anything that didn't involve killing somebody."

"Next he'll be asking permission to strap Heavy Bolters onto the sides," Persion snorted, "But we should let him have his moment, we need something to keep everybody's spirits up."

Furion nodded and said, "I know, tensions are high. This Phage is stressing the Company in strange ways; I've never seen Astartes so jittery. The Captain looks lost, Wrethan is hiding something, Jediah's smiling and Mylos is being… nice."

Persion glanced over and saw Sergeant Mylos standing on the next beast over. It was indeed odd, the Sergeant had been nothing but helpful since their chat, a most unusual state of affairs. Persion didn't know how to process that, he was far more used to seeing Mylos as a soured soul filled with resentment.

Persion sighed, "We are not built for this kind of fight. To wither and twist from within is not a fate worthy of an Astartes. Give us a horde of Khorne Berserkers and we know exactly how to fight and die, but this is totally outside our experience. I am covered in a rash and I can feel it getting worse, soon the mutations will come. I don't want that, I don't want to end up looking like some Chaos scum, corrupt in body and mind, I'd rather die first."

"Rest assured I won't let that happen," Furion answered, "When the time comes then I will kill you myself."

"Thank you Brother," Persion said in genuine relief, "I knew I could count on you."

They returned to their vigil, watching the jungle pass by as the Megasaurs plodded along. They weren't fast but they were inexorable, nothing slowed their pace and they proceeded at a steady lumber. Soon a craggy mound emerged ahead, soaring over the jungle canopy. It was a lone spire of rock, rising vertically from the vegetation like a watchtower over a fertile plain.

The slopes had seen the touch of man, there were faint faces carved into the slopes and lumpy figures. Once they may have been towering statues but the passage of millennia had worn them down until they were merely half-formed silhouettes, with only the vaguest impression of men left behind. In one side of the crag was a large crack, a vertical slit that gaped wide, leading to a large cavern within.

The Megasaurs were steered into that crack, passing into the darkness within. As they entered the cavern Bylan said, "+This is impressive, you could fit a Titan in here+"

Persion replied, "You wish, this was made merely for Knight engines. The surviving keeps are claimed by off-worlders, they are used as trade stations and the home for the Astropaths."

"Speaking of which," Furion interjected, "Looks like we were expected."

The Megasaurs were brought to a halt by hard yanks on the reins and Persion saw a small crowd in the cavern. There were no lumen orbs or other technology present so they were illuminated by small lamps, hung from long poles carried by retainers. There were a score of people below, in threadbare robes with fading symbols inscribed upon them. One person, an elderly woman, was being carried in a wicker chair, borne on the shoulders of four stout natives.

As the Megasaurs stopped the Astartes gathered together, then dismounted. They didn't need rope ladders, they simply stepped off the howdahs and dropped to the ground. Persion hit the dirt and kicked up a cloud of dust as he did so, staining his proud colours with grime.

He followed the Captain up to the group but before anyone could speak the woman called in a croaky voice, "I know why you're here."

Persion blinked as he saw that the woman had no eyes and her robes were hemmed with icons of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. This was unusual, Astropaths tended to live short, troubled lives. The pressure of their psychic labours burned them out fast and only the most powerful of their breed lived to old age.

Toran wasn't put out by the greeting and said, "I am Captain Toran, Third Company, Storm Heralds Chapter."

"Ah yes," the old woman croaked, "Forgive me, I've been living among the heathens so long that I've forgotten my manners. Welcome my lord, I am Hestia Vaar, Chief Astropath of the Trux Choir and these wastrels are my disciples and acolytes. I won't bother telling you their names; there's no point since you will never see any of them again."

Persion was set back by the pronouncement, the Astropath spoke not out of scorn but certainty. Could it be that her psychic gifts including prophecy?

Wrethan was undaunted and stepped up to say, "You know why we are here?"

Hestia nodded her eyeless head and pronounced, "You are beset on all sides and ill-fate looms all around. You seek salvation in the forgotten past, yet there are perils awaiting you that you do not expect, for the greatest danger comes not from without but from within."

Persion sensed a shiver run through the assembled squads, was she talking about the Phage, had she seen it in a vision? Feats of psychic endeavour set them on edge, no matter how Sanctioned they were no Psyker would ever be accepted or fully trusted in the Imperium. Wrethan seemed to agree and spat, "We are not here for vague Prophecy, but directions. We seek the source of this."

Wrethan held up a data-slate, displaying the image of a Golden Chalice. Hestia had no eyes but reacted as if she could see it anyway, she peered at it and said, "So the mystery reveals itself. That is a legend among the heathens, but it has a true origin. When I was young I came to this world and heard a tale from the eldest Astropath. Many, many seasons ago dark horrors fell to the earth and wreaked a terrible slaughter in the jungle. They claimed a lost Keep for themselves and drove out all who lived within its shadow. They disappeared soon after but left that mark behind as a warning. So great was the slaughter that no one has dared test the warning since, to this day the heathens avoid that place as being cursed."

Persion blinked, that sounded like a Codex sweep and clearance, standard practice when setting up a forward base of operations. Could it be, had renegade Astartes really set foot on Trux?

Toran declared, "Sounds promising, we shall investigate it."

Hestia said, "Are you sure? You will not expect what you shall find there. You can yet turn back and find some honourable war to die in. If you follow this course then you shall be tested, you shall find that those who seem the brightest harbour dark thoughts and those who seem darkest yet harbour light in their souls."

Persion had no idea what that meant but Wrethan growled, "Give us less in the way of metaphor and more in the way of co-ordinates."

"I was being poetic," snapped Hestia, "Fine then, take your Megasaurs south for three days until you find a river, follow it upstream for five more days and you will find the lost keep of House Viperae. There you shall find your fate, either way."

"Good," declared Toran, "We shall set off immediately."

As the Company returned to their Megasaurs Persion heard Hestia call out, "Remember what I said, the greatest danger comes from within!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Venenum Filios Chapter 11**

In the darkness of space something moved, unseen and undetected. There were no tell-tale energy traces, no stray emissions, the stars did not even so much as twinkle at its passing but pass it did. It was the Shadow of the Emperor and it was drifting towards Trux, veiled behind Reflex shields of its own.

The Shadow was the product of an earlier age, one where science and invention were not considered Heresy and its stealth technology vastly outstripped the feeble efforts of its loyalist counterpart. It moved with total confidence in its camouflage, utterly certain that it would go undetected. Ahead of it lay Trux, the feral planet blissfully unaware of the monster sinking into orbit. There were no auspex arrays to scan for intruders, no defence stations to blow trespassers away but still the Shadow maintained its stealth. The crew of this ship did not believe in taking chances and would never discard any advantage, no matter how redundant it was.

Standing within its amphitheatre sized bridge were the leaders of the Chaos Marines: Beta, his cell and the various champions of the squads. They were pacing between the bridge control pits, where mutant crew struggled to maintain the vast ship's systems. Over their heads was projected a Hololithic image of the planet below, ringed by runic screed that laid out details of the target and its defences.

Beta was stood proudly upon the command dais, gripping the rail and watching the Hololith, drinking in every detail and pondering the implications. His musing was interrupted by the voice of Anurax who spat, "What a dump, a wretched swamp with a tiny population. No defences to speak of, we could overrun this world in a day."

Zhumo countered with, "There's nothing worth conquering here, barely enough spoils and slaves here to make it worth invading. I doubt any of the wretches below would survive the ascension process to become cannon fodder in our ranks.

However Talgor said, "Conquest is conquest, we are the greatest power here, we should take this world for ourselves."

Beta heard the words, they were pompous and overbearing, exactly what one would expect from a former Ultramarine. Talgor appeared to be under the impression that this warband was some form of conquering army, not the flimsy coalition of pirates, raiders and opportunists that it really was. Beta's suspicions stirred, Talgor wasn't stupid and it sounded more like he was playing a rehearsed part. Beta was convinced that this treacherous dog was scheming against him.

Zhumo seemed willing to argue the point and said, "I don't waste my time with dregs, why should I spend my efforts for such small reward?"

Talgor turned to him, the Chaos runes on his armour glaring in the wan light as he declared, "We are the lords of the galaxy, it is our destiny to take whatever we want, for the Gods of Chaos."

"Gods of Chaos," Zhumo sneered, "A pox on Chaos, I only fight for them when they promise me a reward. You sound like one of Lorgar's zealots, screaming about destiny."

It seemed there was yet a trace of the XIIIth within Talgor for he bristled at the comparison to the detested Word Bearers. Everybody present had bargained with Chaos at one time or another but that was merely to serve their own purposes. All of them held the Word Bearers in contempt for their subservience and grovelling to the powers of the Warp, their desperate need for approval and validation from some superior being.

Talgor's hand went to his gladius and he snarled, "Do not speak to me thus."

Zhumo lumbered about on his talons and his jump pack hummed with power as he growled, "Do not test me child; I fought the First Legion at Tsagualsa ten millennia before you were born."

Beta was enjoying this conflict, it was good to see his underlings at each other's throats, the more they fought the less chance of them uniting against him. Still there had to be limits as to how far he would let them stray. He slammed his staff down upon the dais and the three-headed serpent on top spat blue flames as he expressed his ire, "Stay your blades!"

Silence fell as all eyes turned to him and he continued, "Do not forget why we are here, the Storm Herald's ship we are following. This world is nothing compared to the Bio-weapon, tracking its progress is all that matters. That is our sole focus now, leave this worthless world be. We can always conquer it later, once we are done."

Zhumo asked, "If this world is so worthless then why did the Storm Heralds run here?"

"Why indeed," mused Beta, "There is nothing obvious here to help them, no Genators, no laboratories, no unique biology to provide a cure. Yet they sailed their ship here as fast as they could, what could they possibly want with this world… we need to know."

From a sensorium pit the voice of Epsilon arose, calling, "About that… it was just one ship wasn't it?"

Beta frowned and asked, "What do you mean?"

Epsilon called out, "Passive auspex is picking up an anomalous mass shadow, a ship hiding in low orbit. It's small, no bigger than an escort frigate."

Beta asked, "Have the Storm Heralds seen it?"

Epsilon replied, "No, it may not have Reflex Shields but it's doing its best not to draw any attention. We can only see it because of our superior surveyor systems."

"Mysteries upon mysteries," mused Beta, "Are they here for a rendezvous or are they enemies? Have the Storm Heralds come for aid or are they here to fight one last battle, for the sake of their precious honour."

Talgor declared, "Let us find out, you should take your forces to the planet and capture the Storm Heralds. Let the Bio-weapon rot them apart in some lab if you can't be bothered to kill them yourself. Meanwhile I will take my squads and overrun those ships, capture them for the cause."

It sounded like a good plan but Beta wasn't fooled. There was no way he was going down to some random planet and leaving Talgor in orbit. The turncoat would steal Beta's flagship out from under him the second his back was turned, then probably present him with an orbital bombardment as a parting gift. Beta knew that he would do the exact same thing if the situation was reversed.

Beta shook his head and said, "No, what we need now is subtly, not brute force. A small task force will suffice, I can get us down to the planet quietly and then we can observe the Storm Heralds from the shadows. If they indeed have some scheme in the work we can attack and capture it, see exactly what they are planning."

Zhumo nodded at the plan but the huge fleshmetal sculpture that was Anurax growled, "Damn sneaking about, I want to kill something!"

Beta sighed; the supposed Alpha Legionnaire was devolving into a brute savage, loosing all subtly and skill. The insanity of the Obliterator virus was consuming his mind; soon he wouldn't even be able to speak.

The Sorcerer put him in his place saying, "Try to use that bit of gristle between your ears. The Bio-weapon will make us supreme among the stars, what is a drop of bloodshed compared to that. The Harrowmaster wants proof that the weapon works and so do I."

Anurax growled ferociously, his exposed face filled with rage as he spat, "I don't give a damn what you want."

As he spoke his hands writhed and bulged obscenely. Flesh and metal twisted to form multi-barrelled weapons, a pair of assault cannons, protruding from the Obliterator's arms. A mad look glinted in Anurax's eyes as he bellowed, "You are too weak to lead us."

From the side Gamma stepped forward, double-headed axe raised but Beta waved him back. This was a personal challenge and he had to meet it himself, one could not lead a Chaos warband without demonstrating one's superiority from time to time. If he did not beat Anurax himself the other champions would be after his head. The Obliterator dwarfed him in height and bulk, but Beta was faster and had eldritch powers the brute could never anticipate, he was confident that he could take this swine.

Beta gripped his staff in two hands and opened his mind to the power of the Warp as he said, "Are you challenging me for leadership?"

Anurax cried, "I will take your head, you worthless…"

Before he had even finished the sentence Beta was motion, hurling himself to one side. Anurax blinked in confusion and let rip with his guns, chewing up the command dais in a blitzkrieg of rounds but Beta had already relocated off the dais. He weaved past the storm of shells and came in from the side, spawning a lance of blue flame from the tip of his staff with a single thought. He dashed in from the side of Anurax and swept his weapon across the Obliterator's flank with one hand while making a complicated gesture with the other. Fleshmetal parted and oily blood flowed, causing Anurax to scream in rage. The Obliterator lumbered about and tried to target the Sorcerer but Beta was already withdrawing.

Fat rounds chased Beta as he fell back, catching him in a hurricane of firepower that rang off his armour as stray rounds blew screaming mutant crew apart. The Sorcerer responded by crying a word that was already old when the galaxy was young and the rounds transmuted in mid-air, turning into black beetles that flittered away in all directions. Anurax snarled in frustration and sucked the barrels back into his arms, then two far wider barrels emerged, the unmistakable nozzles of Plasma Cannons.

Anurax grinned but his triumph turned to horror as unexpectedly another barrel protruded, then another and another. Stubbers, flamers, knives, lascannons , meltas, bolters and Grav-guns, all poking out of every inch of him but not by his will. Anurax fell to his knees as he lost control of his limbs, his body turning into a pincushion of barrels. Thick metallic tendrils burrowed through his face like worms, consuming the meat and replacing it with metal. Anurax shook and howled as his body ran amok, turning into a helpless pile of twisted fleshmetal.

"What is this?" Anurax screamed, aghast at the transformation.

Beta stood over him saying, "I laid a curse upon the Obliterator Virus in your flesh, accelerating its progress. See your future Anurax, this is where you were always heading. I can reverse the curse... if I so choose."

"Do it," pleaded Anurax desperately.

Beta sneered, "First you must yield to me."

Anurax looked at Beta with pure hatred but slowly and with great reluctance, he spat out, "I yield."

Beta looked at him for a moment emphasising that he held the Obliterator's life in his hands but then he made a complicated gesture and said, "Glad that's settled."

Swiftly Anurax's flesh returned to normal, the Daemonic virus being driven into abeyance. He slowly stood up, glaring in hatred and Beta knew that word of this would soon reach the Harrowmaster. Good, Beta thought, let that smug autocrat hear that he was firmly in control of his own ship.

The other Champions had fallen back, watching the duel play out, clearly waiting to see who would win. Beta faced them and saw from their stances that his rule was safe, for the moment. He declared, "Get your forces together, three squads for each of you. Gamma and I will lead you to the surface, while Delta and Epsilon keep on eye on the situation up here."

Beta enjoyed the look of realisation creep over their faces that he was dividing their forces. With them on the surface and the bulk of their followers up here, they would be unable to make a move against him. They reluctantly nodded and trooped off the bridge, Anurax going last, stomping loudly to signal his anger at his defeat.

Epsilon watched them go then said, "Anurax won't forget that, his rage will grow and grow."

"I want him angry," Beta declared, "A rival filled with choler makes mistakes."

Then Beta said, "While we're below you two keep a sharp eye out, I wouldn't put it past that lot to try to steal the Shadow anyway. Gamma you're coming with me and for your own sake keep your void-seals intact; the last thing you want is to be exposed to the Bio-weapon."


	12. Chapter 12

**Venenum Filios Chapter 12**

The ground fell away before them, dropping into a vast pit torn out of the ground. It was a deep crater in the surrounding jungle, one that the fast-growing plants could find no purchase on and its slopes were packed with loose scree. The result was a gouge, ten miles wide, dropping away to a dusty floor. Down that slope the Storm Heralds were advancing, bolters held high. They had left their Megasaurs at the top of the crater along with the native guides. Nothing could have convinced the heathens to enter this crater, not even threats by Transhumans could overcome their superstitious dread of the area.

Down the slope Persion was walking, carefully putting his feet down lest he trigger an avalanche of loose scree. The crater was far from smooth, there were ridges and hillocks on the slopes, loose boulders and free-standing pillars strewn everywhere, some so tall that they cast him into shadow. The result was a maze of dead-ends and hidden crannies, places where enemies could lurk in ambush. Persion carefully cleared them, one by one finding nothing, yet he didn't let his guard down. Danger was everywhere and they couldn't risk a moment of laxity. As he walked Persion tried to ignore the itch all over his skin, but it constantly niggled at him. A reminder that the Phage was yet ravaging his body and mutating his gene-seed.

Over the vox he heard Novak asking, "This is a Keep?"

"What did you expect?" growled Jediah.

"A fortress," said Novak, "A mountain stronghold, soaring into the sky, not a pit."

Persion stated, "There may have been a fortress here once but that was millennia ago. It has fallen into ruin, these are the exposed foundations we are walking in."

Furion's voice broke in to say, "Only the Emperor is eternal, time makes fools of everything else."

They were good words but it was significant that they were coming from Furion and not Chaplain Wrethan. Persion glanced over and saw Wrethan striding ahead and the sight made him worry. He opened a private vox link to Furion and said, "Brother, have you heard a word from Wrethan?"

Furion answered, "Not in three days, he has been utterly silent."

Persion stated, "I thought so, he's getting worse, he won't remove that skull-helm and now he won't speak. I wonder what he's hiding."

Furion said sadly, "The Phage is affecting us all, I can feel it in my bones. Memnos gave us two years, but I doubt we will make it that long."

Persion knew he was right, he could feel his body changing day by day. Were it not for Apothecary Memnos' regular treatments he would be far worse off. But that was just managing the symptoms, not curing the disease, the prospect of which was growing fainter every day. Even if they did find something here there was no guarantee that it would be useful. They may have come all this way for nothing more than a weapons cache or a supply depot, which all Chapters secretly maintained. If that proved the case then they were truly doomed.

Suddenly a cry rang out and Persion saw Sergeant Mylos waving from ahead. He hurried over and found Captain Toran, Chaplain Wrethan, Apothecary Memnos and the Command squad, standing with Mylos over a large stone doorway set at a forty-five degree angle into the ground. The lintel was carved with pictograms, declarations of danger and warning in the heathen's tongue. Yet set among them was an icon they all knew, a Golden Chalice with three jewel and shining rays.

Persion felt a swell of surprise and relief, they had found the outpost, they really had. Persion realised that up till that moment he hadn't truly believed that they would find anything. He had denied it but deep down he had thought this was all a complete waste of time. He heard the Captain declaring, "This is significant, we must explore what lies beyond."

Mylos said, "It is narrow and confined, we would be boxed in. This is not a good place to fight."

Memnos stepped in declaring, "We can't turn back now, this is our only lead."

Mylos argued, "I'm not saying turn back but we should scout it out first."

Persion saw Toran glance at Wrethan, who said nothing but nodded slightly in approval. Persion spoke up to say, "Be careful, those pictograms say it's unstable down there."

Everyone looked at him and Toran said, "You can read this?"

Persion nodded and said, "Yes, it's the same as I saw as a child."

"Well volunteered Brother," Toran said, "You go first then."

Persion almost sighed but he knew an order when he heard one. He pushed past them and dropped through the doorway, finding himself in a long narrow passageway. It was dark and dim but his helm's enhanced autosenses had no problem penetrating that. The way was lined with supporting stone beams at regular intervals, holding up the roof and leading off into the distance.

Persion set off down the passageway, weapons held ready while his eyes scoured the rockface, looking for more pictograms to indicate the way. Deeper and deeper he descended, heading lower into the foundations. The walls were pitied with age and rock dust, the toll of ages carving away any signatures of previous occupants yet something was niggling at him. Persion couldn't see anything obvious but there was a tension in the air, a sense of danger and the presence of foes, just out of sight. A lifetime of war was telling Persion that something was off and his suspicions flared and then he saw it in the dirt before him: a lone bootprint. It was wide, too wide for a mortal and so clearly defined that it couldn't be more than a few days old.

Persion opened his vox link and called, "Captain I've found…" Then he froze in horror.

As his eyes rose he saw a flash of silver to his side, nestled right behind a supporting beam. It was a small silver cord, wrapped around the supports of the roof and it was matched by similar ones, stretching down the passage ahead of him. Det-cords he realised, set up right where they could blow the supports and bring down the entire roof.

Toran's voice came back, "Persion report."

"It's a trap!" yelled Persion.

At that instant there was a boom, not from ahead but from behind. Persion realised that he had already passed several det-cords and now they were bringing down the roof behind him. He instantly leapt into a run, dashing down the passageway, further away from the surface. Behind him a series of bangs chased him as he ran; a sequence of detonations intended to bring down the roof in a wave.

Persion put his head down and ran for all he was worth. Rockchips and shards of stone pinged off his armour and a wave of dust engulfed him. He couldn't see anything ahead; even switching to thermal vision provided nothing. All he could do was blunder on, desperately trying not to be crushed. Then a massive weight hit him right in the back and he went down. Persion felt impact after impact smashing down upon him, rocks pouring down in an avalanche of debris, burying him in crushed masonry. Persion felt the weight on his armour increase moment by moment, making the ceramite creak alarmingly. He tried to crawl forward but was pinned fast by the stones bearing down upon him, his ears filling with the thunder of falling rocks. More and more stone fell, crushing him down until he worried that his armour would fail and he would be mashed into paste. Then just as he was sure he was going to die the sound faded away and the rocks stopped falling.

Silence engulfed him Persion felt the weight of the rocks bearing down on him, pinning his armour in place. He was completely buried under a mound of rubble. He tried to move his arms but they were trapped by piles of stone. His vision was cut off and his vox produced nothing but static, nobody could see him or hear him. Frustration built within Persion but he could do nothing but except lay there, watching time slide past in his helm's display. Minutes crawled by and his mind began to wander. He wondered how this had happened, who had set this trap and how long ago. Was it some deliberate ploy, an ambush meant for the Storm Heralds or was it some old snare, left behind by whoever had set up this outpost. Those long-lost Traitors, rightfully driven into extinction and struck from the annals of history.

Persion pondered upon this for a while then he began to wonder if his Brothers even knew that he was alive. Did they think that he was dead and were they even looking for him. He knew that the chances of him having survived the cave-in were slim, in similar circumstances he would probably have concluded that he was dead himself. Persion considered activating his Sus-an-membrane and sinking into a healing coma. Yet he also knew that once activated it could not be dispelled without special chemical treatments in an Apothecarion, he would be out for good. There was also the consideration of the Phage, it attacked the Gene-seed directly, there was no telling what it might have done to the implant, what might happen to him if he tried to use it.

His debate was interrupted by the shifting of stone above his head, a lifting of the crushing pressure weighing him down. This was no slip of stone but the deliberate moving of a rock: someone was digging him out. Persion's dual hearts leapt in his chest at the prospect of rescue but so did his suspicions. There was no corresponding activity in the vox, no calls from his Brothers as they looked for him. Persion began cycling through various vox frequencies, scanning for activity. After a few seconds he found it, signals on a non-standard frequency, one the Storm Heralds did not use. The sound of voices was unmistakable but the encryption was foreign to him. There was only one conclusion: whoever was digging him out, it wasn't the Storm Heralds.

Persion snarled in anger at the thought of encountering the Alpha Legion here, the prospect of being captured was worse than death. He tried to flex his hands, looking for the haft of his Friction Axe but he couldn't move an inch. He wanted to scream and shout but refused to give the Traitors the satisfaction. If the Alpha Legion wanted to take him then he wouldn't give them any pleasure in the deed.

Suddenly a rock was lifted off his helm and he was able to turn his head to look up. Harsh artificial light poured in, darkening his autosenses' display for a moment. Persion growled when he saw the familiar outline of ceramite pauldrons and Astartes' helms, looming right over him. He drew in a breath, preparing to shout imprecations at his enemies but the words caught in his throat as his autosenses corrected themselves.

As his vision cleared the colours of the foe became apparent, the embellishments and heraldry standing proud and clear yet they weren't those of the Alpha Legion. There were no scales over the plate, no snakes or hydras, not even a Chaos mark to be seen. Instead the stranger's plate was a far darker hue, a purple so dark it was almost black and trimmed with polished bone and actual gold leaf. Their armour was chased with shining embellishments and upon their pauldrons were engraved scriptures, inlaid with blessed silver, each one praising Him on Terra. Every one of them boasted a proud Imperial Aquilla upon their breastplate and many purity seals over their plate, attesting to their solemn duties and the traditional sacraments they had observed. Yet what truly struck Persion dumb was the symbol upon their shoulders. A Golden Chalice inlaid with three jewels and five shining rays, arising from within.

The revelation was as shocking as it was impossible, these warriors should not be here, could not be here. They were extinct; they were dead, buried and rightly forgotten. Their mere existence was a dispute of history, an impossible affront to established facts and an insult to the blood spent to make it so.

As the strange Astartes closed upon him, Persion whispered four words to himself. Words that he never would have thought that anybody would ever utter again. Four words that would change everything he thought he knew.

"The Soul Drinkers live."


	13. Chapter 13

**Venenum Filios Chapter 13**

In a dark and quiet corner Persion lay aching, his body battered and bruised. He was missing the outer Ceramite layers of his armour and he was unarmed. He was currently located within a dank cavern, possibly once a subterranean hall or machine shop. If so then the passage of millennia had worn it down, leaving it little more than a hole in the wall.

Persion had been dragged here by the Traitorous filth, stripped of his protective plate and then worked over for a couple of hours. They had used fists and the stocks of bolters to beat upon his already bruised body, his ravaged gene-seed being slow to repair the damage. Persion had suffered for a couple of hours then feigned unconsciousness, which seemed to satisfy his captors. Knives and crueller implements had not yet been brought forth but doubtless that was to come when they thought he was awake.

Persion felt every inch of his body aching and protesting at the harsh treatment, yet he overrode such simple pains by force of will. He was Astartes and he had a mission to complete, what was pain compared to that. All while they had been battering him Persion's mind had been busy, collecting information, analysing details, assessing his captors and he was far from impressed. These Heretics, these Soul Drinkers, were in gleaming armour, every panel beautifully trimmed and polished. Yet that glorious veneer hid deeper hurts, their armour was dented, it creaked and whined and there were deep wounds that had not been properly repaired. This told Persion that these turncoats were woefully unsupported, struggling for supplies and skilled artisans. A fact that they were trying to cover up with their pride.

All Astartes were prideful; it was a basic requirement for a Transhuman warrior who must fight impossible battles. Yet the Storm Heralds tempered pride with focus and dedication to duty, well most of them at least. These Soul Drinkers for their part had no trace of humility; their pride strayed into arrogance and contempt, making them sloppy and careless. Persion knew this to be true, for while they had stripped his Ceramite they had left the undersheath of his armour, along with his vox. Persion was a communication specialist so while they had been battering at his body he had amused himself by deciphering their vox encryption; it hadn't been that hard really. His years of skimming officer levels feeds made him an expert signal cracker, why else would the Chaplains put up with his ways. Now as he lay there feigning unconsciousness he was cycling through his captor's transmissions, listening in on their conversations.

Persion counted five separate voices, a combat squad, though their talk indicated that there were more of them out there. Two were stood outside his prison, guarding him with bolters while the rest patrolled. Persion heard frequent refrains of 'Finding it' and 'sweeps of the area being blocked by cave-ins' and 'was the gene-tech really here?' This told Persion three things: one the Heretics had not built this place, they did not know the layout. This was not surprising as Chaos warbands were notoriously fractious, it would be more than likely that the Traitors would have splintered into separate groups.

The second thing he learnt was that the Traitors had not been here long, only as long as it took to sweep these ruins. But the third thing he concluded was that there was actually something here worth finding. Some form of gene-tech that the Heretics wanted for themselves. This was vital intelligence, Persion had to escape and report it to Captain Toran. Persion's deliberations were interrupted by the thumping of approaching boots. He risked opening an eye slightly and peered out to see what was occurring. What he saw was a pair of newcomers entering his field of vision, Soul Drinkers but in different armour. One was in Apothecaries' white, his Narthecium showing the wear of frequent use.

The other was had a dented helm and was decorated in a Sergeant's laurels, but he bore himself like a Commander. His armour had been trimmed with amber embellishments and he bore personal heraldry upon his greaves, an image of a coiled serpent. Yet what drew Persion's eye was a glorious weapon upon his hip. A long power sword, with a large amber jewel set in the pommel and a snarling serpent's head on the crossguard of the hilt. A wondrous relic, too mighty for a mere Sergeant to wield. Persion concluded that this filth must have pilfered it from some noble hero, stealing his honour as well as his life.

The commander strode up to the group and over his vox barked, "What's going on?!"

One of the combat squad stepped up, one of those who had worked Persion over and was now holding his Friction Axe. The scum reported, "Brother-Commander Coluber, we caught an intruder in the upper shafts. A spy poking about in the ruins."

The commander, Coluber they called him, spat, "A spy, for whom? How many are they, do they know we are here?"

The filth replied, "Unknown, he hasn't talked yet."

The Apothecary sneered, "So you decided to beat him within an inch of his life and leave him for dead. Good work Ferrac."

The one called Ferrac growled, "Don't question me Shrios, you weren't here to make him talk."

Commander Coluber stated, "Don't argue, there aren't enough of us left to fight among ourselves. Did he reveal the location of the Gene-vault?"

"Not yet," growled Ferrac flexing his fists, "But give me time, I can make him talk."

Apothecary Shrios replied, "You've been fighting dregs for too long Ferrac, would you break under torture?"

Ferrac sounded irate as he said, "How much more time are we going to waste shifting through crumbling ruins."

Shrios replied, "As long as it takes, I need the gene-tech Sarpedon hid, I need the equipment and knowledge he took from Stratix Luminae. I can't conjurer Astartes Brothers from thin air. The Magnificence simply lacks the Apothecarion facilities to forge new warriors. If we are to see our glory restored then I need the tools, recruits and gene-seed to rebuild."

Ferrac protested, "How many years have we already wasted on this foolishness? How many decades lost to Warp translations as we chase rumours across the galaxy? Why can't we face facts, the Soul Drinkers are dead, Sarpedon has killed us. Why can't we just accept it and live our lives as Daenyathos taught us: cold and fast."

Coluber cut in saying, "You know why, I made a vow, a promise. I gave him my word that we would keep the flame alive; don't let it end like this he told me. Would you defy his last order?"

Ferrac sounded reluctant but he said, "No."

Persion was confused by all this; he had not heard such talk before. It seemed the Soul Drinkers were arguing about rebuilding their forces, they appeared to need the gene-tech as much as the Storm Heralds. Persion couldn't let that happen, he couldn't let these heretics return to plague the galaxy and he swore to stop these traitorous whoresons. Unfortunately as he did so he couldn't help but move his head and that drew the attention of the Apothecary who said, "Your prisoner is awake."

Persion cursed as the three strode over and he knew there was no point hiding his awareness so he sat up, ignoring the sharp stabs from his muscles. The three came over to him and the Commander squatted down so that he could look Persion in the eye. Coluber reached up and removed his dented helm, revealed a craggy and worn face, with a nose that had been broken many times. Persion was surprised that there was no sign of mutation on him; the followers of Chaos delighted in such defilements but that could not hide the foulness within.

Coluber looked him in the eye and said, "You… you're from the local Chapter, the Storm Wardens, what's your name?"

"Brother Persion," Persion growled, "and it's the Storm Heralds."

"I stand corrected," said Coluber, "but this world is your fief, you can help me. You can tell me where to find the Gene-vault."

Persion spat, "I will tell you nothing Traitor filth!"

Coluber looked down and said, "I suppose you would think that, but what if told you we are not Traitors. That we are yet loyal to the Emperor and Terra?"

"Save me your lies," Persion snarled

Coluber rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and said, "Let me tell you a tale, the tale of the Soul Drinkers. We were a proud Chapter, born from the blood of Dorn so long ago. We were the most glorious expression of the Emperor's will. We scythed across the stars never claiming a homeworld, cold and fast, as our great warrior-philosopher Daenyathos taught us. You should have seen us; you would have wept to witness our ferocity and our zeal."

The one called Ferrac butted in to say, "Then came Sarpedon."

Coluber nodded sadly and said, "Yes Sarpedon, that filthy mutated swine. Once a Librarian within our ranks, he was corrupted in mind and body. He went insane; he murdered our Chapter Master and stole our beloved relics, our fleet and our Brothers, he stole it all from us. Anyone who opposed his treachery was cut down. Sarpedon turned his back on Terra but his arrogance knew no bounds, he refused to bend the knee to Chaos either. He declared the Soul Drinkers 'Free' and tried to make his own way in the galaxy."

Ferrac muttered, "Didn't work though."

"No," Coluber stated, "Whatever else Sarpedon was he proved to be a lousy Chapter Master. He wasted his forces in pointless battles and then he was stupid enough to be captured by the Imperial Fists. His tale ended on the Phalanx, under the gaze of Dorn's spirit and so did the Soul Drinker's… or so everyone thought."

Then Coluber leaned in and looked Persion in the eye saying, "Here's what you may not believe, what Sarpedon never knew. A few of us slipped the net; a handful of loyalists survived his treachery. We stole a small ship and fled during the confusion of his coup. Even as he slaughtered his way through our Chapter's Fortress-Barque we slipped away, swearing vengeance all the while. We ran and we hid, it shamed us but we had to survive, we had to keep the flame alive. We stalked the Traitor for years, chasing rumours and gossip but he was always one step ahead, always fleeing before we could catch up. Then word came that he was dead and that our vengeance had been stolen from us. Now all that remains is to rebuild, to restore our Brotherhood and clear our good name. A most difficult and arduous endeavour yet one we must undertake."

"You were right," Persion said, "I don't believe a word of it."

Coluber was taken aback and said, "So… you won't help us find the Gene-vault?"

Persion declared, "I don't aid Traitor filth and you must take me for a fool to make your lies so obvious."

Suddenly Shrios leaned in and said, "Wait...something's off. He can't lead us to the Gene-vault, because he doesn't know where it is! Look at his face, there's something wrong with his gene-seed."

"He's right," Ferrac said eyeing Persion's Phage ravaged face, "If these Storm Heralds have a problem with their own gene-seed then they would have gone straight to the vault, not sent in a spy to poke about."

Coluber stood up and said, "Then it seems we are done here."

Ferrac smirked and said, "Let me put this one out of his misery."

Coluber held up a hand and commanded, "No."

Ferrac's grin faded and he said, "But he's useless to us."

Coluber declared, "We haven't survived this long by wasting assets and this one might yet reveal useful information. Whether he wants to or not."

Ferrac sank back as Shrios said, "So what do we do with him."

Coluber declared, "Strap his armour back on and bind his hands, he's coming with us. We've cleared all but one sector of the ruins, the gene-vault has to be there. Gather the Brotherhood, tell them that soon our flames will blaze proudly once more."

As the Soul Drinkers begrudgingly pulled him up, Persion was already plotting, for he wasn't fooled by this pantomime. He had seen far more convincing performances by Traitors, some by those he had once called Brother.

These Heretics had sorely underestimated his resolve. He would escape, he would find his Company and then he would teach these curs the error of their ways.


	14. Chapter 14

**Venenum Filios Chapter 14**

Deep underground a party of warriors carefully shifted rubble away, smearing their glorious purple plate with dust and grime. They were working carefully and methodically but making swift progress none the less. The last sector of this ruin lay beyond this cave-in and they were determined to get inside. They had swept all the other possible locations, so by process of elimination the Gene-vault had to be someone beyond his barrier.

Standing at the back Brother-Commander Coluber was waiting, impatiently gripping the hilt of his relic sword. He wanted to bark and shout at his Marines but knew they were working as fast as they dared, a wrong move now could bring down the roof and bury them all. To distract himself he counted heads, looking over the numbers of survivors. Twenty-eight, he counted, twenty-eight Space Marines that was all that was left of the Soul Drinkers. All that remained out of a Chapter that had once numbered a thousand. Coluber snarled as he remembered the events that had lead them here, the black day of treachery and betrayal that had seen them consigned to disgrace and this slow death. It had been the day that his sword, Venom, had been passed to him and the day that he had sworn an oath, one he could not break.

Coluber glanced over and saw Apothecary Shrios tapping his arm impatiently. The Apothecary was the Soul Drinker's only hope of revival, his only chance to fulfil his oath. Shrios had carefully preserved as much gene-seed as he could, collecting it from each Brother lost on their voyages. Thirty-seven of them, more than now remained alive. It was not enough, if the Soul Drinkers were to rise again, they needed more. They needed gene-seed, equipment, tools and recruits. All of which were in short supply.

Coluber moved on and looked at Ferrac, who was guarding the prisoner. Ferrac was a gruff warrior, admirable but sadly he had lost heart. He no longer believed that the Soul Drinkers could be restored, he only thought now of a noble death, one last blaze of glory. Coluber understood that sentiment all too well, he often shared it, but he was held back by his oath, by his promise to the one who had given him Venom.

Coluber looked last at his prisoner, that strange cousin from another Chapter. His plate was dull and inglorious but perfectly maintained and Coluber envied his wealth of resources. Coluber had kept him alive because the warrior might prove useful but he wasn't foolish enough to leave the Storm Herald unguarded. A part of him wished he could embrace his cousin, to stand together as Brothers but it wasn't possible. The Soul Drinkers were on a cliff's edge and one slip could send them into oblivion. Honour, integrity, honesty all these had long since been cast aside in the struggle to survive and he had seen and done things that he would never have thought possible before.

Coluber reflected that he had told Persion the truth, his Marines were loyal in their hearts but that wasn't the whole truth. In order to survive they had been forced into deeds most would deem heretical. Coluber had personally slain dozens of Inquisitors, led raids upon Imperial supply posts and shipping, stolen Navigators and Astropaths from their rightful posts. They had even stalked smoking battlefields, flinching away armour parts and weapons for the cause.

More than anything that had sat ill with Coluber but it had to be done; no amount of glorious decorations could hide the Soul Drinker's dearth of supply and skilled artisans. Necessity had turned him into a thief but worse it had made him a kinslayer, fighting other Chapters for their supplies and relics. In a way Terra's Edict of Obliteration had made their lives simpler, it was easier to slip by unnoticed when everyone thought you were dead. Still Coluber had loyalist blood upon his hands and he had the sinking feeling that soon he would do so again. If these Storm Heralds were after the gene-vault too then the Soul Drinkers were in a race, one he had to win at any cost.

He was distracted by Ferrac saying, "This is going to be another dead-end."

Shrios countered, "You don't know that, this could be the one."

"Pah," spat Ferrac, "Look at our record: we were too late at Entymion IV, the Veiled Region gave us nothing but tears and Stratix Luminae… we lost five Brothers at Stratix Luminae."

"But think of what we learned there," argued Shrios, "We know the Traitors suffered rampant mutations but they found a cure. Gene-tech advanced enough to undo mutation; we imagine what we could do with that. We could rebuild everything we've lost!"

Ferrac growled, "And how many dead-ends have we poked through trying to find it? I feel like we've peered under every stone in the galaxy."

"Enough," ordered Coluber, "We know the Traitors stashed it somewhere and we've exhausted every other lead. This is the last possible place they could have hidden it, it has to be here."

Ferrac sank back before his Commander but privately Coluber agreed. He almost wanted to give into Ferrac's way of thinking, to end it all in a blaze of glory. Yet he couldn't, he had a promise to keep, a vow made to the one who bequeathed him Venom. He could remember every moment of that day with aching clarity and agonising detail.

 _The crunch of metal on Ceramite, the tearing of armour in a frazzling surge of power and the spray of hot lifeblood. That was what Coluber felt when he drove Venom into the heart of his opponent. The warrior before him went still, frozen by the sudden cessation of his life. He went limp and slowly slid off the blade's point, whispering "Traitor" as he died._

 _Coluber felt shock and dismay surging within him, he had killed a fellow Soul Drinker, a deed that there could be no going back from. He smothered it in rage and hate; he couldn't afford to be daunted right now. He gathered himself up and shook the blood off Venom's edge and sneered, "You are the Traitor."_

 _Coluber looked about, seeing his squad clearing the bridge of the Magnificence, surrounding Sarpedon's filthy traitors and gunning them down. His men held the advantage in numbers and swiftly ended the fight. The bridge wasn't overly large, the Magnificence was only a Gladius-class escort, but like all the ships in the Soul Drinker's fleet it was beautifully adorned. There were triumphant frescos, engraved litanies from the Catechisms Martial and small statuettes of famous Captains. It was beautiful, it was glorious and it was theirs._

 _Coluber was pushed aside as Apothecary Shrios hurried to the fallen Traitor, extracting his gene-seed for later use. Coluber didn't begrudge him his duty, the Gene-seed belong to the Chapter and they would need every last morsel if they were to recover from this treachery, from this coup._

" _The bridge is ours," Sergeant Coluber declared, "Get the serf-chattels back to their posts, I want this ship ready as soon as possible."_

 _Then he opened a vox link and called, "Strike team two report, is the Enginarium secured?"_

 _A crackle preceded the reply and then Ferrac's voice came back, "Section secured."_

" _Sergeant Ferrac?" asked Coluber in confusion, "What are you doing, where is Techmarine Gromaas?"_

" _Dead," replied Ferrac, "We took some casualties."_

" _Emperor wept," swore Coluber for that was a heavy blow indeed, Gromaas was the last loyal Techmarine, his death would be a terrible loss._

" _Get the reactors ready," Coluber ordered then turned and spat, "Someone raise 10th Captain Vevas."_

 _Long seconds passed as the serf-chattels worked to establish a link to the distant Fortress-Barque then at last the static cleared and a harsh voice called, "Coluber, is that you: report!"_

 _Coluber answered, "Captain Vevas, we were successful. You were right; the picket fleet is still contested. We were able to slip on board unnoticed. We hold the Magnificence and are awaiting further orders."_

" _Good," Vevas replied, "I am directing all loyal squads your way, you are to take the Magnificence and withdraw. Cover your tracks; make the Traitors think you are dead."_

 _Coluber heard the words and felt a cold chill run down his spine as he said, "Captain, what about you?"_

" _I'm… not coming," replied Vevas._

" _What?!" cried Coluber, "Captain don't be rash, we can come get you."_

" _No," said Vevas sadly, "You can't risk it. The Magnificence is but one ship, you will be blown out of the void. The Traitors have the Fortress-Barque, they have the Glory, you need to run."_

" _I can't leave you my lord," Coluber protested, "Captain I won't do it."_

" _That was an order," Vevas' voice barked but then more softly he said, "This was always the plan my friend, that's why I gave you Venom. One does not lend a weapon like that, it's yours now… Commander Coluber."_

 _Coluber couldn't believe what he was hearing and said, "No, no it can't end like this, I won't let it. We can rally the picket fleet, retake the Glory, we can still win!"_

 _Vevas' voice was still for a moment then said, "Coluber… I have seen him."_

" _Sarpedon," breathed Coluber aghast, "You laid eyes upon the arch-traitor?"_

" _Yes," said Vevas grimly, "He has become a nightmare; he walks on eight arachnid legs and wields powers I can't describe. There's some form of glamour around him, powerfully bewitching, it was all I could do not to throw myself at his feet. The others are all proclaiming this to be a miracle; he has their hearts and minds. Only myself and the scouts seem unaffected, but they outnumber us ten to one."_

" _Vevas," Coluber said, "Let me help you."_

" _You can help me by getting the hell out of here," Vevas declared, "I will draw the Traitor's attention but I can't hold them for long, soon they will notice that you're still alive. Don't let it end like this, not in disgrace and shame. Take as many as you can and run, rebuild and restore the Soul Drinker's honour."_

" _I… can't leave you, not like this," Coluber whispered._

" _Then make me a promise old friend," Vevas stated, "Promise me you will keep the flame alive, promise me you will wield Venom proudly. Promise me that you will live, to restore our honour and make the Traitor's pay for what they have done."_

" _I swear it," Coluber declared forlornly, "The Soul Drinkers will not die in disgrace on my watch."_

" _Then this is goodbye," Vevas replied, "Make your withdrawal, I am going to launch a full frontal assault as a distraction for you. Who knows, maybe the Emperor will smile upon me and I will take Sarpedon's head before they kill me."_

" _Goodbye my friend," Coluber said with depthless sorrow and then the vox died._

 _Shrios stepped up and said, "He dies as he lived: Gloriously."_

 _Coluber drew in a painful breath then hardened his will and declared, "Ready the ship, we will gather as many loyal gunships on board as we can but anyone not here soon is lost. Meanwhile prepare three Atonomic charges for timed detonation, we will drop them in our wake and then slip away under the flare of the blasts. It should look like a reactor breach took out the Magnificence, the Traitors will assume that we all died trying to seize the ship. They should have no idea that any true Soul Drinkers still live."_

 _As the serf-chattels hurried to obey Coluber gazed out of the Oculus. With a pained growl he spat, "This isn't over Traitors. When we are strong enough, we're coming back for you."_

Coluber snapped back to reality with a grimace, the pain not lessening a mote since that black day. The burning need for vengeance had driven him far but then the prospect of claiming retribution had been stolen away, the Traitors getting themselves killed by other means. Still the fire kept him going, refusing to let him stop. He would keep that hatred close to his hearts and use it to destroy anything that opposed them. 

He fixed his eyes upon the prisoner's back and he gripped Venom's hilt, knowing that if these Storm Heralds tried to steal the gene-tech then he would not hesitate to cut them down. Nothing could stand between the Soul Drinkers and their resurrection, the flame would not go out on his watch.


	15. Chapter 15

**Venenum Filios Chapter 15**

Among the ruined foundations of the Keep the Storm Heralds moved, sweeping across the area. They were methodical and thorough in their search, checking each and every dip and furrow in the land. They were moving fast but the crater was miles wide and there was a lot of ground to cover.

Among their ranks was the form of Captain Toran, striding along with his head held high. He was a dashing sight with his red cloak and augmetic eye, the scars on his cheeks granting him a savage air. Yet that proud visage was marred by the spider-web of veins covering his face, thick and red now edging to necrotic black. The Phage was ravaging his flesh as much as anyone's and he knew it. Toran strode among the ranks calling out, "Keep looking Brothers, there must be another way down into the ruins. Do not rest until you find it."

His eyes swept the area and saw Chaplain Wrethan, waving the squads onwards. He had neither removed his helm not spoken in days and Toran was concerned. It was not obvious but to those who knew him the signs of his pain were clear, whatever was going on under his helm, it must be causing him agony. Toran left him to his duties, not wanting to add to his woes. He strode on and soon encountered Furion, shifting rocks and moving debris. He appeared hale at first glance yet his movements were hesitant and slow, like he had rickets in his joints. The Sergeant couldn't move with his customary power or strength and it made him look old.

Toran knew he wouldn't want any special consideration so strode up to him and said, "Any progress?"

Furion replied, "Not yet, no signs of another entrance."

"Keep looking," Toran commanded, "We can't give up now."

"Captain," said Furion hesitantly, "What about Persion?"

Toran felt a knot form in his throat, for he too was worried about Persion. The Brother had disappeared underground and then been lost in a cave-in. There was a faint possibility that he was merely cut-off and lost but everyone knew the most likely outcome was that he had been crushed and killed. Even Space Marines had their limits and hundreds of tonnes of stone would be as fatal to them as any man.

Toran had wanted to order Company to dig Persion out but one glance told him that the cave-in was too unstable, one wrong touch would bring the whole thing down on any would-be rescuers. Whoever had laid that trap had known what they were doing. Toran had his suspicions, it seemed all too likely that the traitorous Alpha Legion lurked nearby, watching and plotting dark schemes. Unfortunately there was nothing to be done, the Company needed to explore below, the Chapter needed whatever secrets were hidden here. So he had ordered them to find another entrance into the buried foundations.

Toran drew in a breath and said, "Persion is on his own for now, all we can do is find a way below. Perhaps we will run into him down there."

From a nearby scree slope came the voice of Jediah saying, "I bet we will probably find him lazing around, taking a rest while we work."

Toran glanced over, seeing that Jediah's face was more bruise now than otherwise. His swarthy features marred by the Phage and he wasn't the only one. Novak's swelling skin was getting worse, Wrethan was silent and all the other Brothers had their own afflictions. Only Bylan was hale and Toran had secretly decided that when he was incapacitated by the disease he would place Bylan in command. It wasn't ideal but it was all they had, Bylan could be trusted to lead them to a noble death.

This was Toran's secret, what he couldn't tell the men: he didn't think that they would actually find a cure here. Toran had a reputation for innovation and radical thought but even he thought this was a wild snipe chase, a complete waste of time. He doubted there was any undoing this Phage, that once they were done here all that would remain would be to find some honourable war to fight and die in. Yet couldn't say that, for the sake of his Marines they had to have some small hope of survival.

Suddenly Toran felt a gnawing clench in his guts and prickly heat across his forehead. He stammered, "Keep looking… I'm going to check those rocks over there."

He drew curious stares as he hurried up a ridgeline and dove in amongst a large collection of free-standing stalagmites, left over from long ago. Toran hastily ran in amongst them, losing himself among the narrow and winding spaces. The tall rock soared over his head and cast him into shadow, a hazy world of darkness and secrets.

When Toran was convinced that he had gone far enough inside so that no one could see or hear him he doubled over and threw up his guts. Terrible cramps gripped his stomach and he fell to his knees, puking up over and over. Long minutes passed as he regurgitated again and again seemingly without end.

After the passage of an eternity he sat back up and wiped his chin, grimacing in disgust. He knew the Phage was hitting him hard, harder than most. He had no doubt that he would be among the first to die when it truly set in. Still, a small part of his mind whispered, better that than live to suffer the mutations. Better to die quickly than live like the disgusting filth of Chaos.

"Having problems?" came a voice from behind him.

Toran glanced behind and saw the shape of Sergeant Mylos, standing there watching his Captain. His helm, with its marksman's laurels, was off to reveal his face. He was walking on one augmetic leg and bore his cusotmary combi bolter-plasma. A fine weapon that Toran had seen him make incredible feats of marksmanship with. Mylos looked stern and proud, a sight marred by the fact that his short hair was falling out in clumps.

Toran woozily stood up and knew that the Sergeant must have followed him in here, he must have seen everything. Toran shook out his cramps and said, "You shouldn't have seen that."

Mylos cocked his head and replied, "You think you're the only one suffering, you always were an arrogant one."

Toran sighed, for that was Mylos all over and the pair had a complicated relationship. Once bitter rivals, then begrudging comrades they had known each other for decades. Toran had patched up their relationship but they could never have been friends, it was all they could do to function as Captain and Sergeant. Mylos had appointed himself the Naysmith of Third Company and his comments were as acerbic as they were insightful.

Toran had recently been considering transferring Mylos out to another Company but it had seemed churlish and immature. He couldn't be the first to admit they rubbed each other wrong, and neither could Mylos. Both were too proud to admit that they would be happier apart.

Toran brushed this off thinking to himself that they could at least be professional and he said, "We all suffer in our own ways; I worry for the sake of our Brothers."

Mylos nodded and said, "I am confident that you will find a way out this mess, you always do."

Toran was surprised, that was a rare compliment from Mylos. He didn't agree with the statement itself, but it was a surprise. Then Mylos glanced to one side before saying, "Have you thought about what comes after?"

Toran was confused and asked, "What do you mean?"

Mylos drew in a breath and said, "I mean the future for our Chapter, what we should be doing in the wider galaxy."

Toran grasped what he was hinting at, the Storm Herald's internal political strife, and he said, "You mean the Emperor-worship, whether we should embrace the proselytising ways of the Chaplains."

Mylos sighed in exasperation and said, "No, not that, we both know it's just a cover for deeper fault lines in our philosophies and doctrines. The truth is that the Storm Heralds are being dragged down by the Lex Imperalis, that kowtowing to Terra's whims is grinding us into the dust."

Toran didn't like the sound of that and said, "We must trust in Chapter Master Gorgall, he will steer us through these choppy waters."

"Gorgall," Mylos snarled with disgust, "Can't you see he's the root of the problem? His compromises, his prized co-operation with the various Imperial Institutions have led us into the meatgrinder time and time again and for what?!"

Toran was incensed and said, "You speak dangerous words Mylos, this Chapter has always operated under the writ of Imperial Law. You advocate breaking with our finest traditions."

Mylos sounded desperate now as he said, "Open your eyes! The Imperium is dying; we all know it to be true. The End Times are upon us and we can't stop them."

That struck home hard, Toran knew all too well the parlous state of the Imperium. It was besieged on all sides, drowning in foes and rotting from within. He'd done his best to heal its wounds, fighting terrible foes and injecting fresh blood in the form of conquered worlds but it was too little too late. The Imperium was akin to a man dying of cancer, nothing could stop it and all knew it to be true.

Still Toran refused to lay down and accept it and he said, "What else can we do, save hold true to our oaths and follow our lords into the fray."

"What if we had a better lord?" Mylos ventured, "What if there was a better candidate than Gorgall?"

Toran's suspicions flared and he probed, "Who do you mean?"

"Chief Apothecary Lessall," Mylos proclaimed, "He understands that the old ways will no longer suffice, that the time has come for us to step forward and lead humanity. The Space Marines should be ruling the Imperium, not those petty quill-pushing High Lords. Terra is going to fall, nothing can stop that but we don't have to be dragged down with it. We can rise from the ashes with fresh power and purpose."

Toran had heard such talk before and he was disgusted to hear it coming from one of his Sergeants. He barked angrily, "These are not your words, are they? Who has been whispering in your ear, who have you been talking to?"

Mylos didn't answer the question and instead said, "They've been watching you and think you are Gorgall's pet, but I know you're smarter than that. Use that intellect, you know the time for revolution is upon us. You don't have to go down with Gorgall and his ilk; you can join the righteous side, the winning side."

"Mylos!" Toran spat, "Listen to yourself, you advocate kinstrife, civil war. That is not our way, we can find a solution without resorting to bloodshed."

"Don't be a fool," Mylos cried, "I'm trying to save you, to save all the Storm Heralds. We will be ground down to nothing if we continue like this; don't be the one to end our line."

Toran shook his head and said, "Mylos you were always a fiery one, you burned so brightly among us, but you have allowed dark thoughts into your soul. These words are beneath you, leave them where they belong, in the dirt. Remember your Brothers, your Company… they need you. Forget these dark thoughts; come re-join us in the light."

Mylos stared at Toran then said, "You truly are Gorgall's man."

Toran nodded and declared, "And I am proud to be so."

Mylos stared at Toran then slowly said, "You're not going to change your mind, are you? You're locked on this course and so am I."

Toran frowned and asked, "What are you saying?"

Mylos didn't reply, he stepped back and looked out between the stalagmites. For a long moment he stood there, gazing outwards and then he gave his response. Quick as a flash Mylos brought up his weapon, the gaping barrels pointed directly at Toran's chest. Toran's jaw fell as he saw the shining plasma-chamber of the Combi-bolter blaze with power. Then Mylos' finger squeezed the trigger and he unleashed a bolt of deadly energy, straight at his Captain's heart.


	16. Chapter 16

**Venenum Filios Chapter 16**

The ball of shining plasma flew forth, boiling air molecules with the heat of its passage. It crossed the intervening distance in moments, etching shadows into the rocks. It was a crackling ball of magnetism and lethal energies, hurtling right at Toran's hearts.

However Toran was already in motion, the second he saw Mylos' aim rising he threw himself to one side. He dove away from the incoming blast, desperately trying to get behind a large stalagmite standing just to his right. The Captain's reflexes were fast and his movement swift but still the shining plasma caught him a glancing blow, just grazing his Pauldron. A shimmering burst of energy sprang into being; the force field produced by his Iron Halo, but so close was the blast that it still seared off the colours from his plate. The relic wouldn't be able to absorb a direct hit.

Toran hit the ground shoulder first and rolled with his momentum, coming up to his feet behind the Stalagmite. His mind was reeling with shock and confusion, the betrayal ringing in the depths of his soul but he shut that out. He was a Space Marine, conditioned to perform under any circumstances and he locked his bewilderment away behind a mental wall. His reactions were purely physical now, driven by experience and training, which brought him around the Stalagmite with his Master-crafted bolter already in hand. He dove out from cover, sweeping his bolter across the space where Mylos had been standing but found nothing. For all his perfidy Mylos had lost none of his skill and he had already relocated, disappearing into the grey gloom of the rock formation. Toran grimaced in disgust, his hatred rising within him. Whatever his motivations were Mylos had just betrayed him, betrayed Third Company. Toran would make him pay for that, his rage demanded no less.

Toran clasped his bolter to his chest and ducked behind a stalagmite, pressing his backpack to the rockface. All around him was a world of shadows and gloom, the wan daylight barely touching the ground, providing perfect cover and millions of places an enemy could hide. Toran peered out but could see no sign of Mylos, even shifting his Augmetic eye to thermal mode produced nothing. Damn, Toran thought, Mylos was good.

Toran ran behind another rock, hastily clamping his helm back on and sweeping constantly for threats but he found nothing. As he did so he opened his vox link and called, "Furion, Jediah, can you hear me? This is Toran, I am under attack…"

The vox crackled in his ear and a voice echoed, "Don't bother trying, I've cut you off."

"Mylos," spat Toran filled with contempt, "You've finally come for revenge for your twin's death."

"Why does everybody obsess over that? This is bigger than petty revenge," Mylos' voice growled in the vox, "And you can stop trying your emergency beacon, I've locked that out too."

Toran couldn't help but blurt out, "How are you doing this?"

Mylos' voice came back, "A little gift from High Chaplain Samect, he gave me your personal vox codes. Persion isn't the only one who knows how to override a vox network; I've locked you into a private link. It's only you and me out here."

Toran spied a lumpy shape in the gloom and quietly stalked up on it, creeping closer with bolter held firmly in both hands. He was about to pounce but paused when he saw that it was just a rock, a large boulder tipped on one side vaguely resembling a Space Marine's bulk. Toran ducked into its shadow and kept scanning for the foe while he said, "Samect put you up to this, so this wasn't your idea?"

Mylos' voice rang back over the vox, giving nothing of his location away as he said, "Oh they've wanted you dead for years. Lessall, Samect and the others, they were content to wait for a while, certain that you'd be killed by one of your reckless stunts but you just didn't have the decency to die on your own."

"You'll never get away with this," Toran spat.

There was silence for a moment then Mylos remarked, "I can't believe you just said that."

Suddenly from the distant gloom came a volley of bolt rounds, lower in energy than plasma so as to not trigger his Iron Halo. A trio of rounds hit Toran, one denting his breastplate, ripping off a rank chain and the others clipping his pauldron. Toran instantly leapt away, diving for fresh cover but inside he was stunned, he hadn't even seen Mylos and the range of the shot must have been remarkable. He was forcibly reminded that Mylos had earned his marksmen's laurels the hard way. Toran dashed into the lee of another stalagmite, chased all the way by bolt-rounds. He mentally triangulated their source as he ran and snap fired off a volley, sending a trio of his own back in return. Silence fell as he dove into cover but he seriously doubted that he had hit anything, Mylos was a much better shot than he was.

To buy time he spoke into the vox once more, "You know the sound of that will bring the others running."

"Let them come," said Mylos, "They will find your cooling corpse and a tale of how the Phage drove you insane, how I was forced to defend myself from your rabid attack."

Despite everything Toran uttered a single laugh at that and said, "You expect anyone will believe that?"

Mylos sneered, "You are a poor judge of your men, they are far more divided than you believe. You make them nervous, you stand where you should fall-back, advance where you should stand. No one knows what you will do next; they believe you could do anything."

Toran swung his bolter out and peered down a row of standing rocks, he saw nothing and decided to risk moving. He dashed across quickly, feeling like he had a target painted on his back but reached cover without a shot being fired. He drew in a breath and said, "What of Furion, do you really think that Furion will buy this?"

"Furion…" came Mylos' voice tinged with sad regret, "Furion chose his path long ago. High Chaplain Samect personally booted him out of the Chaplaincy decades ago and has always regretted not finishing the job. He speaks of it you know; he says he should have arranged a more permeant solution to that problem."

Toran thought he saw a shadow move and inched forward, as a distraction he said, "And Wrethan?"

Mylos seemed to feel the need to unburden himself and replied, "Wrethan, a blind fool. Convinced that Emperor-worship is so righteous but unwilling to recognise the sacrifices it entails. Unlike me he actually thinks you will join them, that you will embrace their cause, what an idiot. That's why Lessall sent Apothecary Memnos here, to keep an eye on him as much as you."

Toran was given pause by that; Memnos was a stout and rational Brother, he didn't seem like a spy. Yet Mylos could be lying, this could all be to distract him as he was trying to distract Mylos. Toran put it from his mind as he closed, stalking up on his prey. The gloom cleared and Toran saw the unmistakable form of an Astartes' helm, right before him and looking away. Toran wanted to run forward, shouting challenges but suppressed the impulse. Instead he coolly and calmly took aim, fixing his sights upon the back of Mylos' head. At that moment there was a subtle change in the air, a shift of wind, a glint of light or maybe the movement of shadows on the stonewalls. Whatever the cause Mylos' seemed to realise that Toran was behind and reacted with blinding speed.

He spun about and let fly with a volley, faster than Toran could even comprehend. The hurtling rounds soared forth and smashed into Toran's bolter, blasting it apart in a fiery explosion. Toran was hurled backwards by the force of the detonation and felt his Phage ravaged muscles clench in protest as he hit the ground hard.

He overrode their protestations by force of will and compelled his body to roll away, chased by more Bolt rounds. A shell deflected off his helm, making his head ring before he could manage to dart behind a stalagmite. He heard the crump of heavy boots approaching and tried to come around the other side, intending to engage Mylos in close combat. A flurry of bolt-rounds to the walls disabused him of that notion, sending Toran back into cover in sprays of rock chips.

Toran retreated, knowing that Mylos was right behind him. He could almost feel the cur's breath on his neck as he ran, the sights drifting over his back. All Toran could do was run, taking random turns among the towering rock formations. He was brought up short when he ran straight into a strange Space Marine, then he realised it was just a rock, the same rock he had encountered earlier. Unexpectedly an idea formed in Toran's mind and he paused. Hastily he ripped free his red cloak from his armour and threw it over the rock, it was a poor disguise but in the gloom it might just draw his foe in. Toran backed off a few paces and drew his blade, Mylos may be a dead-shot but in melee Toran was more than his equal.

The Captain removed himself from the location; until the rock became a vague red smear, then he waited and watched. Silence fell as he waited for Mylos to approach, knowing he could come from any direction. A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck but Toran held perfectly still, waiting for the first sign of Mylos' approach. The gloom and shadows hung before him and he peered outwards, perfectly aware and on a razor's edge. Where would the cur come from, and how? Then he heard it, the slightest scrape of rock echoing just from the other side of the stalagmite. Toran realised that Mylos had picked the exact same spot to lurk in and was just a couple of feet away, only a pile of rock between them.

Carefully and utterly silently Toran bunched his muscles and then in one mighty heave threw himself right into the column of rock. The weathered and chipped stone was no match for the weight and power of an armoured Space Marine and it broke under the strain, cracking at the base to topple like a fallen tree. The mass of stone leaned over and fell, right onto Mylos in a cloud of dust and ash. He tried to dodge out of the way but was boxed in, only managing to avoid being crushed outright. He collapsed under the weight of the stone and fell down, pinned momentarily and that was all Toran needed. The Captain charged through the swirling dust, pouncing upon Mylos and in one flash of his blade stabbed down into the cur's chest.

Mylos gasped as the Sword of Thiel pierced his primary heart, goring through him and spelling his doom. Mylos looked up at the Captain standing over him and breathed, "It was for the Chapter… it was all for…" Toran however wasn't listening; filled with rage he drew back his sword. Then with a savage snarl he swung wide, lopping off Mylos' head in a single blow.

Silence fell and Toran knew he had won, yet it wasn't enough for he felt a tide of rage surging through him. All the lies, all the betrayals, going back who knew how long, had been revealed. He had been played for a fool and had never realised how deep the enmity ran within his own Chapter.

Toran felt an overwhelming need to make this filth pay and he dropped to a knee. He drew Mylos' combat blade then worked the clasps on his amour, removing the breastplate. With swift and sure stabs he carved out Mylos' progenoids, holding them in the palm of his hand. Then he closed his fist and crushed them, excising any potential legacy from such a base traitor.

Toran heard the thumping of many armoured boots approaching but his guts churned again and his head was swirling. A great wave of blackness arose within him and he toppled over, falling into the dirt to pass out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Venenum Filios Chapter 17**

"I don't understand," the words hung there for all to hear, everybody silently agreeing with the sentiment. Again Sergeant Zeax spoke, "How could this happen?"

Toran heard the mummers of agreement among the assembly and saw the confusion on every face. Before his eyes the surviving Sergeants of Third Company were standing around in knots, trying to understand what he was telling them. They were alone, meeting in a secluded gully, the rest of the Astartes being kept busy by the remainder of the Command Squad, save Furion who was standing with him in this dire time.

Once Toran had woken up he had known that this could not be kept secret, that word would get out one way or another. Some would have advised keeping the truth to himself, making up some story but he would not bear that. He seen where such paths led before, the previous betrayal of his friend Halis Paur had been covered-up by order from on-high and he could not help but wonder how that had contributed to this Mylos' bitter treason.

Toran drew in a breath and said, "Mylos claimed to have been acting under orders, that his attempt to kill me was part of a larger plot."

From the crowd Sergeant Lorath asked, "Who would order such a thing and why? What possible motivation could anyone have to kill a Battle-Captain?"

Sergeant Furion said, "The Emperor-worshippers among the Storm Heralds."

Lorath looked stunned and said, "What's that got to do with anything?"

Sergeant Matheus raised his voice and said, "The Masters of the Chapter fight among themselves, we all know it to be true. The Emperor-worship is the flag they wave but in truth it is really about power, who has it and who doesn't. Chapter Master Gorgall is too moderate, too rational and too secular for some, they want him ousted and removing his followers is big step in that direction."

"Lessall," spat Zeax, "We're talking about Chief Apothecary Lessall aren't we?"

From the back of the group a voice cried out, "Don't forget High Chaplain Samect, those two are as thick as thieves."

Toran was surprised that this was such common knowledge and he wasn't the only one. Lorath was looking about in stunned amazement and said loudly, "Does everybody but me know about this? Am I seriously the only one who didn't know this was going on?!"

"It seems so," replied Furion.

Zeax broke in to say, "This is important news so I have to ask… why aren't Wrethan and Memnos here?"

Toran swallowed nervously for he had left the Chaplain and Apothecary examining Mylos' body, telling them nothing. Mylos' accusations had been deep and grievous, who could know how true they were.

Toran drew in a breath and said, "I needed to talk to you first before they find out the truth."

"Probably for the best," Matheus said, "This conflict stems from the Apothecaries and Chaplains, who knows where their loyalties lie."

Zeax said, "Better not get them involved, we don't want to tip Lessall and Samect off, so we should all agree on the same story. That Mylos was acting strange for a while, that the Phage drove him mad and he went rabid. If we all say the same thing it will sound true."

"What of his squad?" asked Matheus, "They lack a sergeant now."

Toran nodded and said, "I can promote one of his men, but who among them can be trusted. We need to examine their beliefs first."

Furion rubbed his chin and said, "So what are we going to do about this?"

Lorath was angered by the revelation and spat, "Lessall sent an assassin into our ranks, we go home to storm his lair and cut off his head!"

Matheus shook his head and said, "We can't do that, we have no proof."

"Proof," Lorath barked, "Who needs proof?"

"The other Captains will," Toran declared, "Gorgall commands little love among them, if we make wild accusations they will say it is we who are the heretics.

"All we have are the deluded ramblings of one mad Brother," Furion explained, "Without damning evidence this will split the Storm Heralds in two. Fourth Captain Jossat is firmly in Lessall's camp and I have my doubts about Fifth Captain Tygra too, the rest… I don't know where they stand. If we act rashly then they will be the ones to condemn us, we must have incontrovertible proof before acting."

"So what do you propose?" asked Lorath.

"Keep this to ourselves," declared Matheus, "Gather our resources and prepare. Say nothing to Wrethan or Memnos but be alert for further treachery."

"Wait for them to make the first move," Lorath snarled, "That sounds like the advice of cowardice."

"It is prudence," Furion stated, "We can't plan a response without allies, without knowing who outside the Company we can trust."

"Plot upon plot, machination upon machination," stated Zeax looking doubtful, "We are all dancing around the real question here. Was Mylos working alone or was he part of a larger conspiracy in the Company? Our Brotherhood has been built upon lies and nothing we thought we knew has survived this treachery. Are there even now more knives being sharpened behind other backs, are there more assassins among us, just waiting to strike? I can speak for my squad but I do not know the rest. Where do anyone's true loyalties lie, who here can we trust?"

Dark looks flashed across every face at that and Toran saw the doubt spreading. Every man was wondering the same thing, were they surrounded by friends or enemies? Was a friendly face hiding murderous intent? He could practically see the misgivings and suspicion stirring in every heart, everyone was wondering who they could trust. Would the man standing next to him abandon them in mid-battle, would they sneak up behind a supposed comrade with a knife in the dark?

Toran realised that Mylos' treachery had done far more than strike at his Captain; he had demolished the heart and soul of Third Company. This was the true danger that came from within. Nobody could fight like this; they could not wage war side by side if they did not trust the Brother standing next to them. Honour, trust, loyalty these were the cement that held a Company together, that separated the Loyal Space Marines from their fallen kin in the Traitor Legions. But doubt, suspicion, paranoia, these could destroy a Company far more thoroughly than any foe.

Right now Third Company was nothing but a collection of wary and divided individuals, no better than the filth of Chaos. This was his fault, Toran realised, he was the Captain here but he had allowed this situation to come to pass. He should have done better and he was responsible for breaking up the Company. Would his Brothers ever trust him again… should they?

"This is all my fault," said Toran sadly into the silence, drawing startled stares from all assembled.

"Captain," Matheus said, "You cannot blame yourself for Mylos' perfidy."

"Yes, I can," Toran said sadly, "I have led you poorly, I should have seen Mylos' rancour earlier; I should have dealt with it. If anyone is to blame here it is me. I have proved unworthy of Third Company's leadership and must be held accountable."

He drew his blade, the Sword of Thiel and threw it point first at the ground; it hit squarely on and stood there like a flag waiting to be picked up. Everybody stared at it in mute incomprehension then Toran declared, "This mistrust and doubt will destroy us, it had destroyed us. Third Company has already been ripped apart by suspicion and I am to blame. If there is any man here who thinks that I am to blame let him pick up the sword, if he thinks that Lessall is right and I deserve to die then let him strike me down. I shall not resist, I have failed you and I await your judgement."

Silence fell and all looked about, each Sergeant looking at his Brethren wondering who would be the first to speak. Every Brother was examining his own thoughts, his stance and wondering who among their kin they could trust. If they spoke out would they isolate themselves, expose their loyalties to those who were plotting against them? It was a moment of doubt and dismay, divided loyalties and hidden intent.

Then the silence was broken by the crump of a heavy boot, it was Sergeant Furion and he boldly stepped before the assembly and declared, "I am Furion, you all know me, you know what I stand for. I hold to the principles the Storm Heralds were founded upon: loyalty, integrity, humble service and the protection of the Emperor's realm. I have known each of you and I know that you too hold these virtues dear to your hearts, yet now suspicion and doubt gnaw at us all. Well I for one will not have it! Here I am and here I place my flag: I stand with Third Company, I stand with Captain Toran. Any man who raises his hand to him shall have to face me first!"

Toran was both stunned and humbled by the declaration, never had he been prouder or more grateful to have the stalwart Brother Furion by his side. The look of shock spread across the assembly, for all knew Furion to be a pillar of strength, both morally and physically. He was respected and admired, even by those who were new to the Company. No one could doubt his righteousness and to oppose him was to cast oneself into doubt.

Suddenly another voice arose from the crowd, it was Sergeant Matheus and he stepped up declaring, "Furion is right and I am ashamed to have not been the first to say it. We are not the ones who have cast aside the Storm Herald's principles; it is Lessall and Samect who have strayed from the path. Remember our credo: We are the Emperor's Storm, we are His wrath… not ours, HIS. Those usurpers have forgotten that, they seek not the Emperor's service, they seek only self-aggrandisement. I will not be counted among such devious curs; I will stand with those I trust: Third Company and Captain Toran."

This was followed by Zeax who stepped up and cried, "I am Third Company, to the core!"

Not to be outdone Lorath shouted, "I am with Captain Toran!"

As if a damn broke suddenly all the Sergeants were shouting as one, each of them proclaiming his allegiance loudly and praising the Captain. Toran felt his hearts soar at the sight, at the renewed Brotherhood and trust the Sergeants were showing to him. He was humbled to be surrounded by such heroes, Marines whose integrity and valour was beyond doubt. He was ashamed to have ever doubted them, to have thought that they would turn upon him. In that moment all thoughts of mistrust and division were cast aside, each Brother knowing that the man next to him was truly his comrade in arms. Third Company was renewed in Brotherhood and loyalty, reborn in the love between Brothers. Toran realised that these were the Marines he trusted above all and Toran swore to himself that he would never fail them, never lead them astray.

Over the cheering Furion shouted, "Third Company is with you Captain, now pick up that sword and lead us well."

Toran couldn't help but smile and he picked up the Sword of Thiel then rammed it home in its scabbard. He looked over the assembled Space Marine and proclaimed, "My Brothers, my kin. You do me too much honour; it is you who deserve the praise here. I may lead you but it is you who are the heart and soul of Third Company. Henceforth none shall look upon us and doubt our fealty; we are one now and evermore!"

The clamour reduced slightly as the Sergeants settled down, filled with the joy of unity and restored trust. Toran drew in a breath and declared, "We shall return home and join with Chapter Master Gorgall to save the Storm Heralds from ourselves. But first we have the little matter of the Phage to deal with, so let us redouble our efforts. We will find a cure to this affliction then return home. Now to your duties, Third Company and let nothing stand against us."


	18. Chapter 18

**Venenum Filios Chapter 18**

The jungle was close and cloying, a humid mix of sap, mould and crushed insects. Everywhere green leaves cast dappled shadows onto the ground, creating a strobing effect as one walked by. The air hung heavily in the lungs, thick and hot, rich in oxygen but stifling in humidity. It was primitive, feral, the most savage aspect of nature run amok and it spoke to the most barbaric parts of the soul.

It was in this world of primal shadows that the Chaos Sorcerer Beta was walking, striding confidently forward in his sealed power armour. He looked proud and imperious, a regal picture of poise and control, but inside he was fuming. He had brought a selection of his underlings down to this pathetic planet's surface, using his sorcery to create a Warp Gate so as to avoid detection.

They had arrived in the middle of this endless jungle, a few miles from the location of the Imperial lapdogs. It should have been an easy matter for them to sneak up on their enemies but this blasted jungle seemed to be teeming with predators. The Chaos Marines had been under constant attack since they had set foot here, beset every step of the way by giant beasts.

They had been stalked by huge arachnids, rushed by six-legged grox with three horns, felines with fangs as long as swords and avians with beaks that could punch through ceramite. Naturally they had dealt with all these threats swiftly, no animal was a match for Transhumans who commonly fought with and against Daemons, but it had made their progress irritating and slow.

Beta glanced over and saw Gamma standing over the cooling body of some form of millipede, as longer than a Rhino tank and nearly as round. It was laying in the mulch of the jungle floor, still twitching as the Chaos Marine ripped his axe out of its carapace head. Gamma was wearing his full armour, sealed against the environment as a precaution, the loyalist lapdogs were infected with the Bio-weapon and the warrior had no intention of being exposed to it.

As Beta strode up to him Gamma snarled, "Accursed jungle, does it ever stop attacking us?"  
Beta replied, "Warp take this misbegotten planet, it's a worthless mud pit."

Gamma shook purple ichor off his axe and asked, "Where has Zhumo disappeared to?"  
Beta replied, "He spied a small human village a few miles away and he led his Raptor cult off to pillage it."  
Gamma sounded surprised as he responded, "You let him go?"

Beta responded nonchalantly, "Zhumo is an ambitious one but he is content with his own amusements. As long as he gets a steady supply of victims to slaughter and loot to steal he is no threat to our rule. Letting him off the leash, for now, will keep him in line later."

Gamma nodded in understanding, not needing any further explanation. No matter where they came from or what their origin all Chaos Marines were ultimately concerned with themselves. They lived for reward, whether it be material spoils and slaves or Daemonic patronage and Warp boons. So long as a leader kept the rewards coming they were usually safe from their own followers, but woe betide the Lord who was too stingy with the spoils.

Beta had watched the rise and fall of countless would-be tyrants and been responsible for more than his fair share of them. Habrael Gorsch, Master Korswan, Vorshaan the Dusk Prince, Indrago Theed, all self-proclaimed Lords who had made the mistake of turning their backs on the Sorcerer. Unlike them Beta was not about to let another steal his position, not even the Harrowmaster would take his power away from him.

Beta's thoughts were interrupted as Anurax stomped past, his wide feet crushing the vegetation as he passed by. He was followed by squads of his lackeys, more than a few of which were showing signs of the Obliterator virus. They drooled and snarled, spat on the ground and cursed loudly as they marched along.

Beta sighed, the mind was often the first thing to go among Chaos Marines, doubly so for Obliterators. Anurax was already a blunt tool but he was growing worse day by day and the looks he gave Beta practically screamed murderous intent. Beta wasn't concerned though, Anurax was a known threat, one he could handle. What would be far more dangerous would be if one of his lesser lackeys started getting ideas above their station. An old-hand like Anurax could be predicted and blocked, novices had an annoying tendency to innovate. That was why the Sorcerer had left Anurax alive, to be a sharp example to any other would be usurpers.

Above their heads was a sudden rush of movement, a flurry of wings and stick-like legs. Beta had a brief impression of insectile bodies the size of canines, all snapping mandibles, bulging facetted eyes and sharp proboscises. Then the canopy was ripped apart by a storm of assault cannon shots and burning promethium flames. Anurax bellowed with laughter as he tore the canopy apart, chasing fleeing insects with outrageous amounts of firepower from his ever shifting arms.

"Warp hells could he possibly make any more noise?" Gamma muttered, "That fool will give away our position."  
It was significant that Gamma, a hardly subtle warrior himself thought this way and Beta wholeheartedly agreed, "We can't sneak up on the Imperial lapdogs like this, we need to rethink."

From the back Talgor stepped up and said, "Let me scout ahead, see what we can find." Beta eyed him warily but it was a good suggestion but he wondered what was in it for Talgor. He examined the idea from all aspects but couldn't see an obvious trap, Talgor couldn't leave the planet without Beta opening a Warp Gate. Beta nodded in agreement and watched Talgor sprint away, with a couple of his own squad in tow.

Beta drew in a breath and said, "Talgor worries me."  
Gamma sounded confused as he said, "He's hardly a threat."

"Not an obvious one but never underestimate the subtle knife," Beta replied, "I know what all the others want, their ambitions are self-evident to me but Talgor hides his desires well. What is he after, what is his goal and how does it align with ours?"  
"You're overthinking this," Gamma growled, "Talgor comes from the Ultramarines; you couldn't get more straight-laced than that. Despite everything since he still walks about with a stick up his rear, maybe the only danger here is the ones you create yourself."

Beta blinked at that, he had not considered the possibility that he was being paranoid, that his lackeys might not be plotting against him. Could it be, he wondered, was he growing overly suspicious and jumping at shadows?

For a moment he dared to examine his memories of the loyalist forces he had infiltrated over the centuries. He had seen the bonds that held them together, the honour, trust and loyalty that made them a single unit, made them more than the sum of their parts.

For an instant he imagined what it would be like to lead such warriors, a band of Brothers where each man fought for those around him. A world where one did not have to watch ones' own comrades for treachery and constantly scheme to eliminate them first.

It was a nice fantasy, but only a fantasy.

Beta shook off the daft notion; the forces of Chaos had long since abandoned such petty morals and the Alpha Legion had never really been strong proponents of such ideals in the first place. Beyond one's own squad, fealty and loyalty were laughable notions and even within that tight band one must always keep an eye open. A trusting Chaos Marine was soon a dead Chaos Marine. Beta would not be foolish enough to turn his back on any save his closest cell-Brothers and he only trusted them because he knew that they relied upon his power and experience.

Beta broke off his line of thought as he heard the scream of jump-pack engines and the canopy bring tore to shreds as the forms of Zhumo and his squads fell from the sky. They hit the ground hard and threw up sprays of mulch, their talons digging hard into the ground. Beta waited a moment then asked, "So, how was the hunting?"

Zhumo held up a bundle of severed heads by their hair, still dripping blood from the stumps of the necks and declared, "Poor spoils but there were enough chattels to amuse us for a few minutes. There were some big lizards too, they were fun to disembowel. You should have come."  
"Alas I hadn't the time," Beta replied, "Its all work, work, work."

Zhumo looked about and said, "Why have we stopped?"  
From the jungle a voice spat, "Because we don't want to tip off the Throne-worshippers that we are here."

Beta saw Talgor emerging from the jungle, his armour smeared with mud and sap. It had only been a few minutes but he was back already, Beta's estimation of his skills went up a notch, as did his wariness of the threat he represented. Outwardly Beta said, "What did you see?"  
Talgor reported, "The Storm Heralds are digging about in the ruins of some crater, they are sweeping it from end to end. Their patrols are Codex-perfect, we weren't able to capture a sentry without alerting them but from what I could see they are trying to find a way underground. Whatever they want is under that crater."

"Maelstrom take the underground," grumbled Zhumo, disliking the prospect of tight constricting spaces.  
Gamma spoke over him saying, "Can we approach undetected?"

Talgor answered, "Not with the noise some of us are making."  
Anurax snarled at the sly insult and his hands writhed as they began to form barrels but Beta held up a hand and said, "Then we must consider alternatives, let me look where others can't see."

Beta nodded to Gamma, who gripped his axe firmly in case somebody tried something. Then the Sorcerer closed his eyes and let slip his senses, with the merest morsel of Warp energy he stretched out his perceptions, extending long tendrils of awareness. To his spiritual senses his mind resembled some vast hydra, many heads extending out from a single mass, each with its own set of eyes.

It was a heady sensation, he felt so light and free, unburdened by corporeal matter or the drag of time itself. Always there was the temptation to not return to his flesh but he had to resist it, he was Beta, master of his own destiny and if he dwelled too long he risked drawing the notice of ravenous Neverborn predators.

The world fell away before Beta becoming a ghostly shimmering fog, matter being as much an impediment to his spirit as mist was to his body. He effortlessly plunged his mind under the ground, pushing his tendrils of awareness deep into the dirt. Life teemed in the soil, trillions of microbes, insects, worms and vermin living out tiny lives, it was fascinating but not why he was here. He passed deeper and then he found a vast network of tunnels and caverns, some natural but many more artificially created. These were filled with debris and many had caved-in but many more were still intact.

He sensed movement in those depths and scented rich life-blood, evidence that some foes were already below. It was the work of a moment to chart the network of tunnels, tracking them away from the crater, running mile after mile deeper into the jungle and then he saw it. A single entrance to the underground world that had been overlooked, far from the crater's edge and positioned so the loyalists would never find it.

Beta snapped back to his body in an instant and saw that nobody had so much as moved. His scrying had taken less time than required to draw a single breath. Beta swallowed as he felt the weight of his bones settle down on his spirit, and fought off the tantalising urge to slip away from his body and live forever as a spirit.

He shoved the impulse back behind a locked door in his mind and declared loudly, "There is another way underground. We shall take it and prepare an ambush below. Make ready for war, soon we shall taste battle and you shall reap the rewards of victory."


	19. Chapter 19

**Venenum Filios Chapter 19**

Something moved in the dark, small and fast, skittering away in a scrabble of claws and whiskers. It was instantly transfixed by a dozen bolters, the movement drawing attention to a potential danger. No rounds were fired though, the Astartes instantly evaluating the target and determining it to be no threat. It was just a rat, one of those ubiquitous rodents that had settled upon every planet humanity had colonised.

As the rat scurried away the Soul Drinkers resumed their sweep, ever alert for more threats. The world around them was dank and dank, lit only by the glow of flamer pilot-lights but it was enough for their autosenses. Small tunnels with mouldy stone walls lay ahead, forcing the Astartes to travel two abreast, in a long column that led off into the darkness. They were travelling in a group for now, the last survivors of their order clustered together as they pressed ever deeper under the ruins. Their movements were swift and eager, hungry for success and tinged with desperation. This was their last chance and they knew it, if they did not find the gene-vault here then their line ended was doomed.

Among their number Commander Coluber was striding confidently, looking proud and imperious for the sake of his men. He was walking with his weapons in hand, Venom and a plain bolt pistol. It was a basic and functional firearm, not truly worthy of one of his rank but it was all they had. The Soul Drinkers lacked the skilled artisans and blessed tools required to maintain exotic weaponry. Save for Venom itself all they had were bolters and flamers. Even the shuttles that had brought them here were workhorse Aquila landers, not the proud forms of Thunderhawks that the Soul Drinkers rightly deserved.

Coluber sighed and that drew the notice of Shrios who inquired, "You have concerns?"

Coluber checked that their vox-link was private and then answered, "We are so close, I can almost taste it but my zeal is tempered by the knowledge that there is so much to do, even once we acquire the Gene-vault."

Shrios nodded in understanding and replied, "The Gene-tech facilities and stockpiles will let us begin to fashion new recruits but to properly rise from the ashes we will still need much more. We need good breeding stock and training facilities. Arms and armour, fuel and munitions, transports, war machines and the workshops to service them… the scale of the task before us is daunting."

Coluber replied, "I have never been daunted by any obstacle, no matter how great. We can rebuild, we shall rebuild, but I cannot pretend that it will be swift. I would count it a blessing to see even one single Company established, but to recreate a whole Chapter… that is too much to hope for in our lifetimes."

Shrios said, "We must be cautious and careful, we will need to preserve every recruit we can. Losses are inevitable but too many at the earliest stages will exhaust whatever gene-stocks we find. We must learn prudence when choosing what wars we involve ourselves in."

Coluber grimaced at that and commented, "That is what concerns me most, caution and prudence… these are not the ways of the Adeptus Astartes, the way of the Soul Drinkers. Daenyathos taught us to live cold and fast, to drive into the heart of the enemy and show them the superiority of our blood. How can we teach them pride and valour by being cautious? We can give them our blood and our colours but how can we pass on our spirit, will the next generation be true Soul Drinkers or mere pale imitations?"

Shrios sounded glum as he said, "I have no easy answers for you my lord, the task may hard but we must be strong enough to walk it."

Whatever Coluber was about to say was interrupted by a blinking icon in his vision. It was Ferrac and the Commander opened his vox link to hear him saying, "My lord, the prisoner is getting anxious. He may try something."

Coluber glanced over and saw the prisoner, Persion, walking with his hands bound behind his back. An Astartes was strong but the plasteel bonds should hold him. He was surrounded and outnumbered but didn't look defeated, he walked with his head held high and he had an air of alertness about him. Doubtless he was planning an escape; Coluber certainly would be in his place. Coluber sighed again; it looked like the chances of them letting this Persion live were growing slimmer and slimmer, if he tried something then they would have to kill him. It gave Coluber much sorrow to think of cutting down yet more loyalists but it had to be done.

He steeled himself and ordered, "Be ready Ferrac, the prisoner's usefulness draws to a close. His head is yours to take when this is done."

"Understood," Ferrac intoned then queried, "And his gear?"

Coluber looked Persion up and down, noting the dull but functional plate, the excellence of its maintenance and the seals reverently applied by skilled artisans. Inglorious as it may be it made the Soul Drinker's own gear look ramshackle and dilapidated in comparison. The tiniest spark of envy stirred in the Commander's hearts at the thought of the resources these Storm Heralds must boast.

Coluber said, "Claim everything in the name of the Soul Drinkers. A dozen of our revered suits cry out for spare parts and that Augmetic arm could yet give good service to a Brother at a later date."

"Acknowledged" Ferrac stated, "But I'm keeping this Friction axe."

Coluber saw Ferrac gripping the fine weapon in one hand and knew that it was practically tradition now for the Chapter to scavenge such trophies from fallen foes. He nodded and said, "It is yours Brother."

Suddenly from ahead came a cry of discovery and Coluber saw much milling about from the lookouts. He hurried to the front and found himself entering a wide cavern, it was broad and long, roughly square in dimension save that the walls sagged in. Its artificial origin was clear from the scattering of columns holding up the roof but the ceiling hung low between them, looking like a slight breeze could cave it in. Perhaps once it had been some grand feasting hall or a workshop for Knight Engines but now it was just another cave, dripping with moisture and furry with mould. Yet none of that truly occupied Coluber's attention, what transfixed his gaze was a single icon carved into the far wall: a Golden Chalice with three jewels. Coluber traced its all too familiar lines and measured the depth of its grooves, they were deep and sharp-edged, far more recent than anything else in the hall.

"They were here, they really were here," Shrios breathed aloud, "We knew that they had stashed the gene-tech somewhere but this is actual proof we're on the right track."

Coluber wasted not a moment to shout excitedly, "Spread out and find a way deeper into the ruin, the gene-vault must be nearby!"

The Soul Drinkers spread out, examining the walls for other entrances. Meanwhile Coluber stepped closer to Ferrac and inclined his head fractionally. Persion had just outlived his usefulness; it was time to do what had to be done. Ferrac tightened his grip on the Friction axe but before he could move there were a series of cries from the far end of the hall.

Two Brothers were standing by a hole in the wall, scanning within with a stuttering, badly-maintained auspex. One was shouting, "We've found it," but the other was shouting over him, "Movement, Auspex is picking up lots of movement!"

Coluber cursed, it seemed that despite all their haste somebody else had found their way down here too. He leapt forward, Venom in hand and cried, "Form up and present arms, prepare for battle!"

Immediately the Soul Drinkers formed a defensive perimeter around the entrance, bolters and flamers pointed down the dark tunnel beyond. Coluber dearly wished that he had some heavy weapons at his disposal. Multi-meltas, Missile launchers or Heavy Bolters would wreck havoc in such tight confines but such means of destruction were beyond them, they would have to make do as always.

In the darkness beyond there was a flash of something, a suggestion of bulky forms in the gloom then suddenly the unmistakeable outline of Astartes warriors were charging forward issuing cries of hatred. Coluber had the briefest impression of scales laid over armour plate, fanged bolters held in spiked gauntlets and twisted horns scraping the roof. It stirred a conditioned response within him, one that had been imprinted in his mind during his earliest training. An immediate rush of righteous hatred and an irresistible desire to meet these foes in battle surged within him as he cried, "Traitors approach, destroy them all!"

Instantly the line of bolters erupted, hurling a wall of mass-reactives down the narrow tunnel. The Soul Drinkers let fly with everything they had, firing relentlessly at the oncoming foe. Coluber gripped his bolt-pistol and fired repeated bursts at the oncoming enemy, the urge to destroy this foe filling him with righteous zeal.

Behind him he heard Shrios shout, "Who are they? How did they get here?"

Oddly it was Persion who yelled, "Alpha Legion, they followed us here!"

Coluber heard the words but he could not pause, the enemy were barrelling down the corridor at them, braving the incoming fire and snap-firing bolts in return. Ceramite armour rang as their glorious purple plate was struck. The foul heretics had inscribed their munitions with fell runes of Chaos and Coluber felt his ire rise to hear the gibbering chitter of Daemons that sang through the air in response.

Solid impacts hit the line of defenders, knocking them back and gouging their plate then Coluber snarled in anger as he saw a Brother go down in a spray of blood. Shrios raced over but the Commander knew it was already too late, that had been a headshot. Twenty-seven, he counted, twenty-seven of them left now, all that remained of the once proud Soul Drinkers.

Coluber's hatred burning fiercely within him and he shouted, "Concentrate your fire, bring them down! For Terra: Ave Imperator, Ave Imperator!"

The line of bolters thundered, creating a torrent of shells in the narrow confines. Coluber spied a trio of hated foes go down with gaping holes blown in them and his spirit rejoiced. Here at last was a righteous battle, one free of compromise and recriminations. Damn prudence and caution, this was what the Soul Drinkers had been born to do, not grubbing about in ruins and stealing from their own kin. It was glorious to be once more what they once had been and for a second he believed that they could again be the proud heroes of legend.

His exultation was short-lived, as something new entered the fray. A huge shape emerged, filling the entire width of the tunnel. It boasted slab-sided plates of armour laid over pulsating metal sinews and bulging muscles with writhing tendrils poking out of every joint. It took a mighty step forwards into the teeth of the oncoming fire, then another and another then Coluber heard Ferrac gasp, "Obliterator."

"Concentrate your fire!" roared Coluber and the Obliterator was inundated with bolts. Yet its body shifted and changed, drawing thick armour plates up to the fore to create an impenetrable barrier. Bolts ricocheted harmlessly off its armour as it ran forward, becoming as powerful and invulnerable as an armoured tank. A storm of shells fell upon it yet did no harm as it charged at them, roaring in rage and madness. Coluber saw it close the distance in seconds, ignoring bolt-shells and gouts of burning promethium then it hit the line.

Soul Drinkers were thrown aside by its weight and heft, cast aside like rag dolls. Nothing could stop its advance and nothing they had could bring it down. It broke through their ranks with a scream of triumphant rage, bellowing in insane mirth as it wrecked havoc. Coluber tensed to leap at it with Venom in hand but was given pause by another cry. In the Obliterator's wake came a screaming wave of Traitorous filth, racing to take advantage of the momentary confusion. They leapt into the fray with knives drawn and claws ready, falling upon the Soul Drinkers in a wave of mad frenzy. The Soul Drinkers met them with courage and zeal and the battle was truly joined.


	20. Chapter 20

**Venenum Filios Chapter 20**

The cavern was ringing with the thunder of weapon discharges and cries of rage. The tight narrow space booming with the mighty crescendo of battle being joined and blood being spilled. The noise was all-consuming, making the air itself heave and echoing back by the confining walls to bludgeon the ears. Any mortal would have been rendered incoherent by the uproar but then these combatants were hardly mortal.

In the dark and suffocating space two bands of Transhumans clashed, Soul Drinkers and Alpha Legionnaires. Each side was the pinnacle of human gene-craft, honed and tested by war and lifetimes of carnage. Each of them was clad in the finest armour and they all were equipped with weapons that were either blessed or profane. Cries of vengeance and rage issued from every mouth as they fought and in the clamour even they could not tell who was shouting what.

Amid the bedlam Persion was struggling to stay alive, jumping back from wrestling foes and ducking around thrashing forms. He was in the middle of the battle but could not fight, his hands were bound behind his back and he was unarmed. So he ran, avoiding conflict in a way that was galling but kept him alive. All around him the Soul Drinkers fought tooth and nail against Alpha Legionnaires but he was not surprised, Traitors often fought each other. It was no concern of his if the slaves of Chaos wished to eradicate themselves.

He watched a Soul Drinker being borne to the ground by a pair of fiends in scaled armour. The Marine punched out with a fist that made a horned helm snap back but his resistance was ended when a knife was stabbed up under an armpit into his hearts. It was a good death, proud and brave, better than the Heretic deserved. Persion owed these Soul Drinkers nothing; he had been listening to their communications and knew that they had been planning to murder him. The filth hid their murderous intent behind a glorious veneer but their arrogance oozed through regardless. Persion knew that for a fact, because in their haughty pride they had failed to properly examine his Augmetic arm.

Persion had managed to avoid revealing the capabilities of his replacement limb and as soon as the battle had been joined he had deployed it. Even now his hand was rotated 180 degrees and his fingers were moving in a way no normal hand could replicate, shifting and twisting as they undid his bonds. It wasn't easy doing this blind and in the middle of a battle but he persisted and then with a cry of triumph his arms came free.

Persion felt his limbs break out of their bonds and he growled as he brought his fists up, he was free now he could deal with the small problem of being unarmed. Persion spied a fallen Alpha Legionnaire, laying on the ground with multiple holes bored through him. Next to his dead hand was a long knife, sharp and viciously deadly. Persion bowed to scoop it up with his hand outstretched but at the last instant he froze. The knife was covered in dark runes and had a fell aura, it practically oozed murderous intent. He did not know what foulness had been done to this blade but it stank of corruption and he would rather chop off his other arm than pick up such a cursed weapon.

His moment of distraction was a terrible mistake, as he froze a leering fiend came at him. The Traitor had talons for hands and feet and a large jump pack arching over his back. Persion was unarmed and helpless, he knew that could not avoid the coming blow but then a firm hand shoved him roughly to one side, out of the way of the charging Chaos Raptor. Persion fell to the ground with a curse and looked up but was shocked when he saw Ferrac standing over him. The Soul Drinker had saved him from the enemy's claws and was leaping to intercept the foe in his place. Ferrac wielded Persion's Friction axe in one hand, meeting black claws with wide sweeps of the red-hot weapon and engaging in a duel as fast and deadly as any Persion had ever seen.

Persion felt confusion well up within him for this didn't make any sense. Ferrac, his gaoler, was taking his place in the battle, a foul Traitor fighting to save him. Maybe it was just because Persion was their prisoner and he wanted the kill for himself or maybe it was a vestigial sense of pride but neither explanation rang true.

Persion looked out over the battlefield, seeing once more the two sides tearing each other apart. They were roughly equal in numbers and ferocity but there were more subtle differences between them. To a mortal the scene would have been utter madness, two knots of battling Transhuman warriors engaged in the anarchy of melee but to an Astartes, fighting styles were as individualistic as handwriting and just as telling. The scene before Persion was an open book to him, one that told a story.

The Alpha Legion was fighting in packs, advancing and falling back in waves, each individual warrior taking advantage of every opening his comrades created. They fought well together, co-ordinated and murderously efficient as a group. Yet each individual was also isolated from his kin, every one of them looking out for himself at all times and not lifting a finger to save a comrade in danger. They were utterly lethal as a combined force but ultimately each and every one of them was only using his comrades for his own ends.

The Soul Drinkers, by comparison, were fighting in tight groups, holding an unbreakable line against the tide. Every one of them was flanked by his squadmates, and they fought together as one. Whenever one of them struck out his comrades would guard his exposed flank, keeping him safe. They risked their own lives to protect their Brothers, trusting the next Brother along in turn to protect them. They fought as a unit, the bonds of trust and loyalty amongst them clear and obvious.

To Persion's experienced eye the differences between the two sides were harsh and unmistakable. The Alpha Legionnaires fought only for themselves, but the Soul Drinkers were fighting for each other. They were like night and day, water and oil, Loyalist and Traitor. Heretics didn't fight like this and if this was pretence then it was the greatest one Persion had ever seen.

Persion looked out again and saw the Soul Drinkers fighting proudly and well, driving back the Traitors with discipline and hardened focus. Greatest of them all was the one called Coluber who was facing a lone Obliterator with his shining blade in hand. His movements were fast and vicious, strike and withdraw, strike and withdraw over and over, taking the looming foe apart piece by piece. The Obliterator tried to lash out but its movements were slow and awkward in comparison. It was unable to land a hit or draw a bead on the Commander who swayed and struck like a serpent in motion. As Persion watched Coluber sliced the hamstrings of the Obliterator, causing it to fall backwards and crash into the dirt. Fast a cobra he struck, leaping onto its wide chest and driving his blade into an eye-socket.

A sudden crash made Persion look round and he saw Ferrac falling to the ground, having been bested by the Raptor in combat. He was wounded and down but not dead, yet he had dropped the Friction axe. Persion saw the weapon before him and realised this was his chance; he could take the weapon and run, breaking out in the anarchy of the melee to flee back to the Storm Heralds. Yet as Ferrac lay there and the Raptor loomed over him, cackling with glee, Persion found he couldn't do it. Despite everything Ferrac had saved his life and he couldn't leave him to die, not like this, not helpless and alone. There was a line, one of honour and Brotherhood and Persion would be damned if he crossed it.

Before he could think it through Persion scooped up the Friction axe and leapt at the Raptor bestriding Ferrac. His weapon flashed and the Raptor barely had time to blink before his weapon carved into its spine. There was a cry of hate and frustration as the Traitor collapsed, then Persion's axe swung again and took off its head. Ferrac looked up in stunned amazement and gasped, "Why did you do that?"

Persion merely offered his hand and clasped the fallen Marine, then heaved him up to his feet. Ferrac's hand went to his combat knife and Persion didn't know what he intended but then another pair of Traitors came at them, from two opposite directions. There was no time to plan or strategize; there was only training and instinct, a response demanded by the situation.

Without needing to speak Ferrac and Persion slammed back to back, facing the Traitors as they came, counting upon each other to watch their blind spots. One Traitor came at Persion with a vicious knife in hand; he was fast and skilled and avoided Persion's deflection to gouge into the elbow joint, drawing blood. The Traitor was quick as lightning, coming back instantly but this time Persion was ready and met the attack with the burning edge of his blade. The Alpha Legionnaire roared as his hand was chopped off, taking the knife with it. Then Persion swung again, slamming his weapon into the chest of the Traitor. Ceramite crumpled like wet parchment under the power of the scalding weapon and the Traitor collapsed in a heap, his insides cauterised into a fused mass.

Persion glanced back and saw that Ferrac had the other Traitor in a close embrace, his knife plunged up under the helm into the jaw. The point of the blade had broken through the top of the helm and the Heretic was transfixed, jerking uncontrollably in death. Ferrac withdrew the knife and the Alpha Legionnaire fell down, still twitching as random nerves fired in his mushed brain.

Persion looked around and saw that the battle had turned in the Soul Drinker's favour, the tight defence winning the day. The Traitors had lost a dozen of their number and were falling back the way they had come, retreating in the face of superior resistance. The Soul Drinkers weren't foolish enough to chase them, this force had been relatively small and the Traitors doubtless had more numbers elsewhere. Only an idiot would pursue a retreating enemy into the teeth of an ambush.

Suddenly Persion felt a rough hand shoving him away as Ferrac barked, "Go, you have to go right now."

Persion saw that Ferrac was pointing back towards the other tunnel , the one they had originally come from and he asked in confusion, "What are you saying?"

Ferrac hastily said, "If you stay Coluber will order us to kill you... he has to."

Persion blinked and said, "But didn't you want that?"

Ferrac snarled, "Of course I did, but you saved my life I owe you a blood debt. Now I'm saving your life in return."

Persion shook his head and said, "Come with me, meet my Captain. After this I can convince him that you are loyal, that the Soul Drinkers are not all Traitors."

Ferrac barked, "No, we are locked on this course. The next time we meet we may well be foes again but I won't kill a Marine who has shed his blood for me, not like this at least."

Persion pleaded, "I've seen you fight, we don't need to be foes."

Ferrac barked, "It's out of our hands, but you have to go. Go right now and I'll make up some story that you escaped in the fight."

Persion took a step back and said, "I won't forget this."

"You better bloody well not," Ferrac quipped, "Now run!"

With that Persion turned and dashed away, racing out of the cavern. He ran into the dark tunnel heading back the way they had come, axe in hand. As he ran he replayed what he had just seen in his mind's eye, knowing that this wasn't over. He had to find Captain Toran and relay his tale; the Storm Heralds had to know what was going on down here.


	21. Chapter 21

**Venenum Filios Chapter21**

Silence fell over the battlefield and the darkness crept back in to wrap itself around all present. The corpses of friend and foe lay cooling as they embraced, all enmity forgotten in death. Spent shells were scattered everywhere and scorch marks festooned the walls, burning away the mould and lichen that covered them. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of death but that did not bother the victors, Space Marines were conditioned to be above such concerns.

In the middle of the battlefield Commander Coluber was standing astride the fallen Obliterator, carefully checking that it was really dead. Sometimes it could be hard to tell with the filth of Chaos but he was reasonably certain that this foe was actually deceased. He drew back Venom and stuttered its power field, the flaring energy burning off the black oily blood on its length to leave it pristine. Coluber sheathed his blade and jumped down from the mountainous corpse, landing spritely on his feet. Inside he felt exultant and the giddy rush of victory filled him, a glorious battle against a terrible foe, what more could he ask for?

Finally after so long his Marines had been granted a righteous conflict, a fight without moral compromise, dishonour or shameful retreat. So many years of scrounging for supplies, he lamented, stealing from his cousins and killing them where necessary. So many years wasted skulking about the galaxy, chasing rumours and gossip in the ever diminishing hope that things could go back to the way they were.

With a flash of insight Coluber realised that this was the first time since the betrayal that his Marines had been acting like Astartes, like Soul Drinkers. For decades now they hadn't been true to their spirit, they had been acting like thieves and bandits not true warriors of the Emperor. Coluber didn't know how long this had lasted, Warp Travel being what it was time had slipped away from them, in fact he wasn't even certain what year this was. Yet he swore enough was enough, they wouldn't carry on like this; they couldn't. This was the time for them to either rise from the ashes as something new or to finally die once and for all.

Coluber surveyed the cavern, seeing his Soul Drinkers were equally triumphant. They were standing proudly, moving confidently as they swept the battlefield, searching for survivors and collecting dropped bolters to salvage their ammunition. Each and every one of them bore terrible wounds, none had escaped unscathed but they seemed elated by their scars. Finally marks worthy of remembrance, badges of honour, not of shame.

Coluber picked out a pair of Soul Drinkers and called, "You two, recon ahead, make sure the way is clear. Check that the Traitors have really gone and for thrones' sake be wary of ambushes!"

The two bowed briefly then ran off, heading along the tunnel that the Traitors had retreated up. Coluber trusted that they would be undetected, the Soul Drinkers hadn't survived this long without learning a thing or two about stealth.

While his recon party probed ahead Coluber approached Apothecary Shrios, who was tending to the wounded. He was working on patching up a gut wound but thankfully the Brother's gene-implants were already doing most of his work for him, only the most serious of wounds could fell an Astartes. Yet Shrios' cryo-flanks were clinking full, clearly he had been called upon to extract the gene-seed of some dead Brothers.

Coluber steeled himself and called out, "Shrios, what is the butcher's bill?"

Shrios answered without looking up from his work, "Eleven of theirs, five of ours."

Coluber's lips pulled back over his teeth in a grimace, that was a steep price to pay. Twenty-three, he thought to himself, twenty-three Soul Drinkers left. They were so very close to the edge of extinction, they had to succeed here or all would be lost. Shrios glanced up from the warrior he was tending and said, "The bodies are over there, the others are waiting for the rite."

Coluber nodded, knowing too well what was to come. A ritual as old as their flight from the Traitors. Coluber strode over to a corner where five bodies were laid out, their chests exposed where the gene-seed had been extracted and he heard the noise of the remaining Soul Drinkers gathering behind him. He waited until all were assembled then looked upon the fallen and began the rite. It was brief and to the point, words that had formed out of necessity in the heat of battle then become a habit, then a ritual.

"Brothers Adrik, Tobea, Neodul, Bolac, Vallieus," Coluber declared as he recited their names, "You died as you lived: Cold and Fast. You gave your lives so that the flame may endure; now your deaths too shall stoke the fire… one last time."

Coluber turned his back and stepped away, hearing behind him a frenzy break out as the surviving Soul Drinkers descended upon the slain, tearing off their armour parts. This was necessary rite, without a Techmarine each Brother had been forced to learn to tend their own gear, replacing broken parts with whatever they could get, even the plate of the dead. At first the rite had been done solemnly and with great reverence but the heat of battle and years on the run had stripped all dignity from this, as it had done so much else.

Coluber heard arguments breaking out, insults and punches being thrown as his Marines fought over scraps and it made him grit his teeth in anger. Only a few minutes earlier he had been rejoicing in the renewed spirit of the Soul Drinkers, now they were bickering and fighting over the dead like hungry rats. Coluber thought, what wouldn't he give for a team of skilled serf-artisans to tend to their gear? What couldn't he do with the resources available to a Chapter like the Storm Heralds? The Soul Drinkers couldn't carry on like this he knew and he swore that after today they wouldn't have to.

Coluber strode away from the scrum and noticed that there was one Brother who had not taken part in the rite, it was Ferrac and he was standing all alone, markedly lacking a prisoner. Coluber marched up to him and barked, "Ferrac, where is the prisoner?"

Ferrac answered, "Gone, he broke away in the fighting and ran off."

"He ran off?" Coluber asked in disbelief. He stared hard at Ferrac but the helm gave nothing away. Coluber switched their vox link to private, so that the others would not hear and he probed, "Did he escape or did you let him go?"

Ferrac refused to sound guilty as he said, "Does it make a difference?"

Coluber growled, "You know how close we are to the edge, we needed him, we needed his gear."

Ferrac sounded angry now as he spat back, "For what, so we can continue to perpetrate more acts of shame, bring more dishonour to our name!"

Coulber shook his head and said, "I do understand, the things we have been forced to do to survive shame me too. But we are so close now, once we have the Gene-vault we can leave all this behind, start a new page in our history. We can be again that which we once were."

"Wake up," Ferrac barked, "The Soul Drinkers are dead, we died decades ago, why cant you accept that."

Coluber was angered now and growled, "You may want to die, to go out in a blaze of glory but I won't let it end like that. I am going to save us whether you want it or not."

Ferrac paused and said, "Is that what you think of me, that I want us all to die? All this time together and you never understood."

Coluber was confused and asked, "What do you mean?"

Ferrac stepped closer and explained, "You are trying to save our bodies but I am trying to save our souls, the heart of the Soul Drinkers, the zealous ardour that defines us. Daenythos taught us to live cold and fast, to be fierce and relentless but honourable too, perhaps too honourable for such a dark universe. He taught us to fight for the Emperor's dream, even when the Imperium itself doesn't, even if it meant our deaths. You may find the gene-vault; you may raise a new generation to wear the purple and gold but without that zeal will they truly be Soul Drinkers?"

Coluber was shocked to hear his own reservations echoed back at him and he said, "I understand your concerns, I share them but we can still do this. The future of the Chapter can be honourable, a new page free of the stains of the past."

Ferrac inclined his head at the other Soul Drinkers, who were still arguing over scraps and he said, "Will it, or will the tarnish of what we have done blemish the Soul Drinkers forever? We have lived as scavengers and thieves; we have spilled the blood of loyal Astartes, deeds like that cannot be forgotten. These ways cannot be allowed to consume our spirit, we have to draw a line somewhere or we are no better than the Traitor filth. That was why I let Persion go, because when I saw him fighting for me I realised that if I didn't then I would not be worthy of redemption."

The words cut into Coluber and he said, "I hear you Ferrac and I swear to you I won't let the future be like that. The mistakes of the past will not be allowed to persist, we will rebuild not only in body but in spirit too. The future is a blank page for us and we can write an entirely new saga upon it. I see a fresh start for all of us, free of dishonour and kinstrife. A new tomorrow where the Astartes are truly the best of men, in body and in soul."

Ferrac didn't sound convinced and said, "And what of the Inquisition?"

Coluber was surprised and said, "What of them?"

"The Inquisition has declared the Soul Drinkers Excommunicate Traitoris," Ferrac stated, "Did you think they would forget it? That if we just turn up shouting our loyalty, then they will forgive us for our crimes?"

Coluber snarled, "That was because of Sarpedon's treachery, not ours."

Ferrac growled back, "You think the Inquisition cares? Do you think that they can even tell the difference?"

Coluber sighed, knowing it to be true, his anger slipped away and he explained, "You are right, if we go to them helm in hand, begging for forgiveness they would destroy us without a second's thought. No, what we must do is present them with a fait accompli, a new Chapter that is extant and loyal. When they see us reeving across the stars, fighting the Emperor's wars, then they will know our worth. It will doubtless take much time and blood, and I am sure that the Inquisition will have its own price, but we can do it. The Chapter needs you to make that happen Ferrac, can I trust you to play your part, can I count on you to stand with me?"

Ferrac nodded and held out a hand saying, "You have to ask? I have always fought with you, I may not agree that a bright and rosy future lies ahead for the Soul Drinkers but will not leave you now. You have my blade."

Coluber was glad to hear that and he took the hand in a firm grip, then remarked, "It occurs to me that the new Chapter will require spiritual guidance… a new order of Chaplains."

"Don't look at me," Ferrac quipped, "Find some other fool to do it, a skull-helm doesn't suit me at all."

Whatever Coluber was going to say next was interrupted as the recon party returned. Coluber faced them and called out, "Report!"

"The Traitors have fled but there are signs of movement further out. There must be more of them than the few we bested," they explained, "There's more, the way branches out but we found signs of the Chapter deeper in the tunnels. The gene-vault must be ahead."

"At last!" Coluber exclaimed loudly for all to hear, "This is what we have been waiting for, form up Space Marines and prepare for the last battle of the old Soul Drinkers. The time has come to take what is ours, a new future is waiting for each of us, all we have to do is seize it!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Venenum Filios Chapter 22**

Under the ground there was only darkness, a thick cloying veil that hung upon everything. It was not a still darkness but a busy one disturbed by the skittering of vermin and the passage of countless insects. It was claustrophobia made real, edged with old nightmares from the dawn of time and the fear of the lurking predator in the gloom.

Suddenly that dark was broken, pierced by a single ray of light. The thin beam illuminated the tunnel, opening the way for a lone individual, approaching fast. He was a giant, clad in blue Ceramite armour which bore the spiral in a starburst icon of the Storm Heralds. It was Persion and he was making his way up the tunnel, Friction axe in hand.

From the brow of his helm emerged a single beam of light, lighting the path before him. It was a feeble illumination by normal standards but more than enough for his autosenses to draw upon. He could see the dank passageway stretching out before him, branching off occasionally. He had raced away from the battle, not sure that the Soul Drinkers would not pursue him. So he had taken random turns, straying from the path he had come down before. He was fairly certain that he had shaken any pursuit, but an unfortunate consequence of this was that he was completely lost.

As he ran Persion replayed the battle over and over in his mind, watching it again with the perfect recall of the Transhuman. He watched the Soul Drinkers fight the Alpha Legion again, examining the memory for any hint of deception. He knew all too well how devious the followers of Chaos could be, they would do anything to trick and manipulate an opponent and yet he could discern no trace of falsehood. The fight had been vicious and fierce, both sides fighting to the utmost, seeking only their enemy's destruction.

No matter how many times Persion replayed the events he couldn't find a sign that it had been a pretence and his gut told him he had been watching a real fight. The implications of that were troubling, if these Soul Drinkers truly were loyal then the situation became infinitely more complex. That Chapter had been declared Excommunicate Traitoris, by Imperial law the Storm Heralds were obliged to destroy them without hesitation. Yet could they do it, could they eradicate another force of loyalists?

Yes, Persion decided glumly, yes they could if it meant their own Chapter's salvation.

Persion thought then about Ferrac, that lone warrior who had shed blood with him and then set him free. Ferrac had seemed a brutal executioner at first, forlorn of hope yet had shown surprising honour at the end. Persion could not help but wonder how many times the Soul Drinkers had faced similar situations that the Storm Heralds now faced, how many honourless choices had they been forced to make in order to survive. They seemed cold and ruthless, yet beneath that gruff exterior there dwelt be a solid core of virtue, a vestige of honour yet in their souls. Persion's musings were interrupted as an unexpected violent cramp seized his limbs along with a churning sensation that clawed at his guts. "No, no, no," Persion gasped in pain, "Not now damn it."

It was the Phage, returning to wreak havoc upon his body. In the heat of combat he had almost forgotten the vile disease running rampant in his body but now it returned with a vengeance. Persion felt tremors building in his hands then his knees went weak and buckled beneath him. He tried to ignore it, to press on through force of will but it was pointless to resist. His legs gave out and he fell involuntarily onto his hands and knees in the mouldy gloom.

Persion had never felt so weak before, never had his body failed him like this. It was inconceivable to an Astartes to be rendered so helpless and he couldn't help but wonder if this was how mortals felt all the time. He managed to lurch over to one side and sat down, feeling his head spinning around him as he tried not to pass out. Persion had no idea how long he sat there, feeling his body wracked with cramps and darkness tingeing his vision. He had to move on, he had to complete his mission but right then he could even lift his arm. Everything felt so distant, so far removed from him that he couldn't quite remember why he had to keep going.

Suddenly there was a loud crump in the gloom and the sound of voices, Persion heard feet approaching and rolled his head to look outwards. He saw the bulky shapes of Transhuman warriors closing in on him, but hidden behind the glare of lumen beams he couldn't tell if they wore Alpha Legion scales or Soul Drinker purple. He weakly raised his axe in a feeble gesture but it was futile defiance indeed. Suddenly a voice cried out, "By the Throne, look its Persion!"

The bulky forms closed in and the light split open to reveal that they were wearing Storm Herald blue. They were his Brothers, come to save him. Persion felt many hands lifting him up and arms slipped around his waist, leaving him to be carried between two Brothers. He knew he should greet them but right then his thoughts were too sluggish to make the connection.

He felt himself being carried along for a time, then he was laid down again. A blurry white shape came at him and distant words rang in his ears, muffled and half-formed. Then suddenly a cold rush swept through him, driving out the foggy confusion, leaving him clear-headed and alert.

Persion blinked and saw Apothecary Memnos crouched before him, his Narthecium withdrawing an injection syringe from his armour's interfaces. Persion swallowed, his throat feeling red-raw and croaked, "Memnos, what happened?"

Memnos replied, "You had a relapse but I got to you just in time. I've treated your symptoms but it's only a temporary measure, I cant halt the Phage's progress for long."

"I'll take it," Persion said as he staggered to his feet, "Where is Captain Toran? I have to make a report."

"Here," came a voice and Persion saw the Captain approaching through a crowd of blue armoured forms. The Captain had his helm off, making him look terrible. His face was crisscrossed by a web of black necrotic veins, dividing his head into a patchwork of sections. He looked as bad as Persion felt and it was the clearest sign yet that the Phage was advancing rapidly.

Persion saw the remainder of the command squad was with him, Furion, Jediah, Novak and Bylan, who alone looked hale and whole. Chaplain Wrethan was there too, utterly silent and grim behind his skull-mask.

Novak spoke up and quipped, "Persion, there you are I said we'd find you laying around, taking your leisure."

Persion didn't smile, the situation was too serious for that and stated, "Captain I've made an important discovery, the Soul Drinkers live, they are here!"

Toran blinked and replied "What?"

Persion said, "The Soul Drinkers, they aren't all dead. There's a force of them here, right ahead of us."

"Traitors!" growled Jediah, "Here?"

"No," Persion countered, "I'm not convinced that they are."

"Slow down Brother," Toran said, "You're babbling, start at the beginning and tell us everything."

Persion drew in a breath and knew he was getting muddled. He slowly centered himself then relayed his tale, he told them of his capture and interrogation. He spoke of the Soul Drinker's parlous state and what he had learned from listening in on their conversations. He related how poorly equipped they were and how desperate they were to find the gene-vault hidden in these ruins. He spoke of their battle with the Traitors and his part in it and how one of them let him go.

When he was done there was silence, then Memnos said excitedly, "So there is Gene-tech down here, we are on the right track."

Toran didn't sound so elated as he remarked, "Remarkable yes but we still have the problem of a horde of renegades and Traitors before us. We never expected to find survivors of that outcast breed, I don't know whether to be amazed or outraged."

Novak muttered, "More treasonous dogs, as if we don't have enough of those already."

Furion's reaction was most curious; he kicked out with the side of his boot, catching Novak on the greave as if in admonition. Persion didn't know why that comment would stir such a response, but he spoke up to say, "I'm not convinced that they are Traitors. Desperate and driven yes but not treasonous, I'm not sure that we have genuine Heretics on our hands."

"It won't matter," spat the voice of Jediah, "If what you say is true then they need to find this vault too, they need the gene-tech as much as we do. If it comes to it would they hesitate to take it all and leave us to die?"

"No," said Persion knowing it to be true, "They are as desperate as we are."

"Then it must come down to us or them," declared Jediah, "Personally I choose us."

"We have to get there first," declared Toran, "They already have a head start, we need to move fast."

Persion knew what that would entail and spoke up to ask, "Captain, how will meet them? Are we going to charge in all guns blazing or try to talk first?"

"Talk?" spat Jediah, "We are Astartes, it is not in our nature to let the enemy fire first."

"They may not be enemies," Persion replied, "Not all of them at least."

Furion commented, "You spoke of one called Ferrac, you admire him don't you?"

Persion nodded and answered, "I do, we fought side by side, I have seen his mettle and it is honourable. I would not like to cut him down without good reason."

Toran sighed loudly and declared, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now we don't know what to expect when we encounter these strange warriors, they may not give us any opportunity to talk. But make no mistake if they fire upon us I will hammer them down until they are dust."

"+What of the Alpha Legion?+" piped up Bylan, "+They aren't likely to let us go that easily+"

Novak shook his head and said, "Traitors on all sides, we are walking into a bloodbath." That brought glares from all around and Persion didn't know what to make of it.

Then Toran stepped up and said, "We're wasting time, we need to get the Company ready to move. Furion spread the word to expect Traitors and Apothecary Memnos dose everybody now, I want us feeling fighting fit before combat is joined. Chaplain Wrethan you will be right at the front, where everyone can see you and draw inspiration from your presence. Bylan I need you to fly the standard high, Novak keep your blade ready and Jediah you do whatever it is you do that makes the enemy piss themselves."

The squad eagerly broke up and headed out to their various duties. Persion however noted that he hadn't been given an assignment and stepped up to Toran asking, "Captain, what the hell is going on around here?"

Toran glanced about to make sure Memnos and Wrethan had gone then quietly donned his helm. Persion was baffled but then a private vox-link opened up and Toran said, "You missed a lot Persion, none of it good."

Persion didn't follow and said, "What could possibly have happened to get everybody so jittery?"

Toran sighed and slowly said, "There's something you need to know… it's about Mylos."


	23. Chapter 23

**Venenum Filios Chapter 23**

The future hung before them, so tantalisingly close, beckoning them forward like moths to a flame. It was bright and shining, a beautiful prospect just waiting for the first person to reach out and take it. Such an alluring possibility, a future of strength and pride where valour and honour were restored unto them.

Coluber could practically feel it in his grasp as he raced along, chasing the signs hidden deep underground. Behind him came a stream of purple armoured warriors, moving at a swift pace. Coluber counted once more, twenty-three of them including him, so few, so very few. Each one of them had seen hardship beyond compare, all of them had fought by his side since the dark day of betrayal. They were a small nucleus from which to rebuild a whole Chapter but they would suffice, they had to.

Coluber knew that there were yet great challenges ahead, arming and equipping a Chapter was no small endeavour. Most Chapters drew upon the labour of the scores of worlds within their protectorate, including Forgeworlds. He had no such surfeit of supply, but he was not worried. That was a problem for tomorrow; today his only goal was to secure the future of the Chapter, the means to rebuild.

As he ran he spied another symbol of the Chapter carved into the walls, telling him that he was on the right track. He despised his Traitorous kin but he couldn't fault their prudence, they had been wise enough to hide the Gene-tech from Stratix Luminae where no one would think to look. Even the Heretic filth had recognised that keeping such valuable gene-tech with them had been inherently dangerous. Better to have a fall-back if things went ill, a secure contingency plan should they suffer irreplaceable losses.

Coluber wondered if Sarpedon himself had ever walked here, but then he discounted it. Coluber had acquired these coordinates from the torture and interrogation of a lone survivor of Sarpedon's renegade band, one more individual who had slipped away and survived long after the Imperium declared the Soul Drinkers officially extinct. Before he was executed the Heretic had claimed to have been sent out here with a few trusted retainers, to secret Sarpedon's prize somewhere safe. Despite his doubts that it was in any way true he had to admit it had been a sound plan, except that now it would serve Coluber's needs instead.

Coluber saw out of the corner of his eye that Ferrac and Shrios were matching him pace for pace, just as eager as he was to find their objective. Shrios would be essential to the new Chapter's birth, not just for the rigorous gene-implantation of recruits but in the training of new Apothecaries to succeed him. Ferrac would also be important in the new Chapter, his strong right hand and experience as a field commander would see him rise far. If Coluber was to be a Chapter Master then Ferrac would be his First Captain.

Coluber shook off the thought; it was pointless to get ahead of himself. First they must find the gene-vault and secure the priceless material within. As if summoned by the thought Coluber found himself stumbling through a narrow aperture and emerging into a vast hall. It was definitely a hall, the signs of artificial construction clear and sharp.

Their stablights illuminated walls that were laid with marble stonework and arched buttresses that held up a high roof. A score of entrances led off into the darkness, some so small that a child could barely fit, others wide enough for a squad of Astartes to march in side by side. The floor was a broken field of mosaics; their tiles shifted and piled up by rough hands and the marks of heavy machines.

Yet none of this drew Coluber's eye, what truly consumed his attention was the ribbed mass of reinforced metal set into the far wall. It was pristine and untarnished, a brand new fixture set into a hole that had been hacked out of the faded stonework of the wall. It was round, probably cylindrical, three times the height of an Astartes and there was no telling how far back it went. In the front of it was a single door, marked with the symbol of the Soul Drinkers.

Coluber stepped forward as the Soul Drinkers spread out to secure the hall, his eyes fixed upon the shining metal. Here at last was the culmination of his quest, the means to fulfil his vow and he felt rapturous as he proclaimed, "The gene-vault, it is here."

Ferrac followed him saying, "Looks like they just dropped the whole thing down from orbit and then dragged it here in one piece. No wonder they had to clear out the heathens, it must have taken ages to widen the tunnels enough to get it in here."

Shrios was one step behind them and eyed the vault saying, "I see thermal exchange ports, they're active, there's cryogenic storage going on here. If this thing was once an Apothecarion's cyro-vault then they could have stored hundreds of Gene-seed samples in there, not to mention every sacred machine necessary to gestate the implants."

Coluber stopped at the door and laid a hand upon the cold metal, he gently brushed the lines of the Golden Chalice and whispered, "This is it, the answer to all our prayers. We have to get inside."

Ferrac rapped a knuckle on the door and spat, "Adamantium, no way are we blasting our way through that with the paltry explosives we have left."

"That would destroy the gene-tech," Shrios countered eyeing a discrete panel set just outside the door, "Standard protocols would be to incinerate the contents in case of an unauthorised intrusion. We have to be subtle."

Coluber drew back his hand and said, "How long will it take to bypass the Machine Spirits?"

"I'm no techmarine but I worked in the Apothecarion long enough to know how to get inside a Cyro -vault," Shrios replied as he flipped up a display on his Narthecium and compared it to the panel, "Give me an hour or so."

Coluber stepped back and said, "Very well, Ferrac let us secure this space."

As the Apothecary set to work they moved off, directing the survivors of their force to cover the various entrances. They were the best the Imperium had to offer but this was a poor defensive position. The space was wide and open, lacking cover and they had no heavy weapons at their disposal, worst of all they lacked the numbers to defend every entrance, if an attack came they could only hope to hold one or two doorways. Still they did the best they could and soon they were as ready as they were ever going to be.

Once set Ferrac stepped closer and said, "Once we have the vault, what then? Where do we go, what do we do?"

Coluber answered honestly, "I haven't given it any thought, finding this vault has been our only goal. I can only trust that we shall find a way, we haven't come this far to fall short at the last hurdle. We can find a way to replenish our stores once we are away from here."

"I won't go back to raiding Imperial shipping," Ferrac growled, "No more dishonour you promised us."

"No, I won't become a renegade either," Coluber agreed, "We will need to find an advanced planet or maybe a Forgeworld desperate enough to support us."

"Support us? They would have to be desperate indeed," Ferrac lamented, "Most Imperial or Mechanicus forces would shoot a Soul Drinker at first sight."

Coluber's reply was cut-off as one of the Brothers called out from his post, "Movement, movement in the tunnels!"

Ferrac instantly spun on his heel and shouted, "Loyalist or Traitor?"

"It makes no difference," Coluber stated, "Make ready for battle, nobody is taking this away from us!"

Instantly the squads formed up before the tunnel in question, bolters loaded and ready. Coluber and Ferrac joined them, weapons primed and eyes sharp. Venom lit up with an electric tang and lethal energies ran along the length of the blade making the amber jewel in its hilt glow. Coluber knew in his hearts that this was it, either they defeated whatever was coming down those tunnels or they died in glorious battle, there were no other alternatives. He welcomed it, either fate was worthy of an Astartes and he swore that he would never go back to the hollow existence he had been eking out until now.

He saw the other Soul Drinkers equally energised and he cried, "Be joyous Brothers, the day we have awaited for so long has come at last. Today we shall see the end of the old Chapter and its litany of mistakes. In the fires of battle we shall witness the birth of a new Chapter, a better one! Ave Imperator!"

"Ave Imperator!" the initiates roared and then a moment later bulky shapes emerged from the darkness of the tunnels and the line opened fire.

A thunderous volley of bolt-rounds roared up one of the widest tunnels, smashing into the oncoming forms. Power armoured shapes went down under the barrage, falling down with great craters blown into them. Coluber let off salvo after salvo, targeting closing foes and cutting them down. Between bursts he saw the foe bore horned helms and scaled armour and he knew it was the Alpha Legion, come again to finish what they had started earlier.

Coluber's heart filled with scorn for they had sorely underestimated his forces. They were armed and ready, catching the Traitors in a confined approach and slaughtering them in droves. The bolter fire poured on, filling the tunnel end to end while a pair of flamers shot forth burning promethium in great gouts of flame. The Soul Drinkers were a line of righteous defiance, becoming once more the Emperor's finest and his greatest champions. Death was in their hands and they dispensed His justice with chilling ruthlessness and terrifying zeal. This was the reason they had been made and Coluber exulted in the fight, in doing what he had been born to do.

His triumph was dashed when a shining ball of plasma came out of nowhere, catching Brother Anatos in the back and melting though him in a moment. Twenty-two, he counted, that was all that remained now. Coluber spun about and snarled in anger when he saw a second group of Traitors emerging from another tunnel behind them. He realised then that the first approach had been but a feint, to draw their eyes away from the true attack. It was a simple ploy and one he could have guarded against had he the numbers to properly guard the many tunnels. As it was the Soul Drinkers were now caught in a cross-fire, trapped on both sides.

Coluber looked over the scores of new foes and saw they bore glowing plasma barrels and melta guns, wicked claws and cursed blades. There were the hunch-backed forms of Raptors, mixed with the hated Chaos Marines and the bulky forms of Obliterators, standing head and shoulders above the rest. At their head was a Sorcerer, brandishing a staff with a three-headed serpent on top and beside him a brute with a double-headed axe.

Coluber took in the sight in a moment; the Soul Drinkers were outnumbered and outgunned, surrounded on two sides and with no means of escape. There was no possibility of besting such a foe and no way to survive the coming onslaught. That left only one option open to him, the choice he had secretly longed to make for decades.

Face with an unbeatable foe and the certainty of death Coluber raised Venom high one last time and cried, "With me Soul Drinkers, make the price of your lives high! Cold and fast Brothers… Charge!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Venenum Filios Chapter 24**

War called, the sound of it reverberating in their ears, the stink of spent ammunition and ionized air wafting up the tunnel ahead of them. It was intimately familiar, as recognisable and welcome as the beating of their own hearts. It called to them, singing a siren song that no Astartes could resist and the Storm Heralds raced to greet it.

In their midst Persion was running, gripping his Friction axe tightly. All around him jostled blue-clad warriors, packed tightly into the tunnel. They all knew that a fight was breaking out ahead of them and the culmination of this quest was within reach. Persion saw tunnels branching off left and right, but the sound of battle guided their steps, showing them the way.

The Storm Heralds had followed Persion's earlier tracks, then stalked the footprints of the Soul Drinkers, closing the distance with relentless doggedness. Yet that was behind them, what Persion fretted upon now was what they would find when they caught up with the outcast Astartes. Judging from the sounds ahead it would be nothing good.

Suddenly Captain Toran held up a clenched fist and the Company jostled to a halt. Persion was near the front and was able to peer past, seeing what was occurring. Just beyond the Captain the tunnel ended and split open into a wide, high hall. Within that space a battle raged, two forces of Transhuman warriors slamming into each other with cries of rage and bellowing threats ringing forth. It was fierce and brutal, as fights between Astartes always were, a scene of carnage that would have loosened the bowels of any mortal man.

Filling the hall were Chaos Marines in scaled armour, screaming in rage as they threw themselves into the fray. They fought viciously and with murderous zeal, revelling in the slaughter and the fierce rush of combat. Opposing them was a small knot of purple and gold, a tiny island of resistance among a sea of scales and claws. It was the Soul Drinkers and they were surrounded on all sides.

Persion saw several of them had fallen already, hacked apart by wicked blades but the remainder fought on. They were battling valiantly, undaunted by their losses. Their line was steady and their courage boundless but they were outnumbered four to one and their doom was certain.

Among them was Coluber, his mighty sword a blur of lightning as he stabbed and withdrew, over and over like a striking serpent and every blow left a Traitor bleeding out on the ground. It was as heroic a stand as any Persion had ever seen, an epic display of courage and resolution in the face of utter annihilation.

Persion gripped his Friction axe as Toran said, "This is it, prepare to attack."

However Furion said, "Captain… who are we fighting? Whose side are we on?"

That gave everybody pause, the Alpha Legion were foul Traitors but the Soul Drinkers were equally outcast. Should the Storm Heralds intervene to aid them, they all asked themselves. Wrethan raised his Crozius and swept his other hand laterally, a clear sign that he thought they should just attack everybody and make no distinction.

Jediah however countered, "Captain, we don't need to engage immediately. Let the Heretics slaughter each other, we can pick off the survivors with ease."

Furion declared, "So we stand back and let others fight our battles for us... that is not the way of the Adeptus Astartes."

Jediah spat, "They're all Heretics, what does it matter how they die so long as they are dead."

Novak jumped in to say, "We are here and there are enemies before us, honour demands that we should not rest idle but smite them all. Let them see the retribution of Terra!"

Yet Jediah countered, "There is no need for useless bravado, let them kill each other for us."

"That is the path of cowardice," Furion growled, "We are better than that, we must be better than that."

Bylan interjected, "+The Soul Drinkers fight bravely and well, they spared Persion's life, no true Heretic would act so. They are dying before us while we stand here arguing!+"

But Jediah growled, "Let them die."

Persion's vox tickled and a private link came from Captain Toran saying, "Persion, I have don't have enough information to make a decision. You are the only one here who has met these Soul Drinkers. I need to know are they loyal to Terra? Are they worthy of saving?"

Persion didn't know how to answer; he looked out over the field of battle feeling the weight of the decision settling upon him. In the battle he saw zeal and fervour, bravery and boldness but knew that could so easily be turned to foul purpose. So many brave Chapters had fallen into perfidy and these Soul Drinkers were already tainted by association. Imperial writ would leave them to die but was it right in this case?

How could he measure the consequences of this decision, how could he know the ramifications of making a choice? There was no way of telling what would happen next, what these Soul Drinkers might do tomorrow. A wrong choice now and he could watch valiant heroes fall or he could unleash a new plague of renegades upon the galaxy, he didn't have the right to do that.

The choice weighed him down and froze him with indecision for a second but then Persion saw something that made his choice crystal clear. It was Ferrac, battling a trio of Traitors, armed with nothing but a combat knife. Persion saw that he was fighting zealously but it was clear that he was outmatched and about to die.

Persion watched him fighting against impossible odds and suddenly the right choice became self-evident. Here was a warrior who had saved his life, with whom had fought back to back. Someone who had shed blood with him was in danger and Persion was honour bound to stand with him. Damn consequences and galactic affairs, if Persion abandoned a comrade in arms then he was not worthy of calling himself a Storm Herald.

Persion nodded to himself and told Toran, "Intervene now, save them, save the Soul Drinkers."

Toran accepted the judgement and barked, "Enough bickering we will engage the foe: adopt assault pattern Tango-2. Target the Alpha Legion only, take those foul Heretics down!"

The orders sparked a surge of activity and the Storm Heralds reacted with the speed born from centuries of experience. They poured out of the tunnel and spread out, drawing a curved arc of blue around the edge of the hallway. It was a matter of moments to line up in formation, then with an almighty roar the Devastators and heavy weapon troopers let fly with their Missile launchers and Heavy Bolters.

All across the rear ranks of the Alpha Legion explosions arose, huge red and black flowers of destruction that bloomed across their backs. Bodies were torn apart in the fireballs, shattered ceramite scattering everywhere along with torn off limbs and showers of gore. A heartbeat later the packed ranks of bolters spoke, hurling waves of mass-reactive shells at the stunned foe.

The noise of the violence was stupendous, confined by the enclosed walls and ceiling to bounce back at them. Mortal hearts would have been stopped by the vibration of the air, they would have died with collapsed lungs and burst eardrums. Yet these warriors were Transhuman, they endured the violence without so much as blinking and rejoiced in the destruction they had unleashed.

The Alpha Legion had been hit hard by the salvo, a score of them dropping in the first volley but they too were more than human and they reacted instantly. A wave of them broke off from the fight and spun about, racing back towards the Storm Heralds with claws and foul blades held ready. Persion saw them coming and hatred surged within him, a response born from ten millennia of war and personal experience.

The Devastators hung back, pouring on overwatch fire but the Tactical and Assault squads leapt to meet the foe head-on, weapons held poised for the first impact as they formed a thin line of blue. Persion gripped his axe firmly and saw his first foe, a Heretic in scaled plate whose helm leered with a Daemonic visage wrought upon his faceplate.

Persion saw him coming and ducked low as a black knife came at his face. The Traitor snarled as he swung around again, Persion however stepped into the blow, catching the inside of the elbow with a raised forearm. The Traitor reacted with blinding speed, throwing his head forward in a vicious head-butt but Persion took the blow without being given pause.

In return his Friction axe swung hard, his augmetic arm lending the blow extra power. The burning blade caught the Heretic in the mid-riff and tore right into him, almost cutting him in two. The Traitor collapsed in a gory heap, his implants struggling to keep him alive despite grievous wounds. He tried to lift a bolt pistol, but Persion stamped down hard with his boot and crushed the foe's head, spilling brains over the floor.

Persion looked down the line and saw the battle raging, loyalist, Traitor and outcast fighting tooth and nail. Captain Toran was standing firm against the foe, his Relic sword cutting apart anything that came at him. Alongside him stood Chaplain Wrethan, fighting relentlessly, with his Crozius rising and falling like a metronome. He did not speak but somehow his solemn silence was more terrifying than his normal cries and bellows, turning him into a silent and grim machine of war.

Behind them dashed Apothecary Memnos, stooping to finish off wounded enemies one by one. There was no glorification of his work, merely the functional snaps from his Narthecium as he dispatched injured enemies then moved on.

On one side Novak fought a snarling Raptor, his combat shield and power sword flashing with deadly power. Yet he was not fulfilling his full potential, moving slower than normal and it took him a dozen blows to batter down just one opponent. To the other side Furion and Jediah fought shoulder to shoulder. They fought off knots of Heretics, keeping each other safe with the trust and Brotherhood born of decades of shared bloodshed.

In the heart of the melee Bylan fought alone, holding the Standard in a two-handed grip. He was disadvantaged by its weight but still moved with more fluidity and grace than anyone else. His immunity to the Phage making its deleterious effects on the rest seem obvious. Persion gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts, hacking out left and right, scoring deep wounds upon the accursed foe.

Despite all their ardour and the element of surprise the Storm Heralds were not having everything their own way. Their blows lacked killing power and their reactions were slowed by the disease within them. The Alpha Legion were now the ones caught in a vice yet had all their might at their disposal. With the experience honed over a lifetime of war Persion could tell that the battle was finely balanced and the smallest thing could yet swing it either way.

At that moment there was an actinic flash and a screaming, chittering noise that resounded in dimensions beyond Euclidian geometries. From nowhere a fireball came at the Storm Heralds, shaped in the form of a daemon's head with chattering fangs that seemed to be laughing mockingly. It hit right amongst them and exploded like a grenade going off, green shards of fire cutting through Ceramite with contemptuous disdain.

Half a dozen proud Brothers were thrown aside by the blast, leaving a gaping hole in their line. Into that hole poured Traitors, led by an Imperious Sorcerer who had four twisted horns on his helm and a three-headed staff, that still glowed from the discharge of power. The Traitors rushed at the scattered Storm Heralds, catching them in a moment of vulnerability and the battle became more ferocious than ever.

Persion stepped into the gap, ready to fight but found himself confronted by a lone warrior. He was a giant, equal to Furion in height and his armour was decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' shapes. The Traitor raised a cursed double-headed axe in readiness to fight and he bellowed, "Prepare to die Storm Herald and when you get to hell tell them that it was Gamma who sent you there!"


	25. Chapter 25

**Venenum Filios Chapter 25**

The hall was filled with the manic din of battle, the Alpha Legion, the Storm Heralds and the Soul Drinkers all fighting with furious abandon. Fire and death were everywhere as the enmity of the ages played out, warriors fighting with terrifying fanaticism to cut down their foes. There was no question of restraint of mercy here, only death would suffice.

In the heart of the melee, Persion faced off against the towering giant of a Chaos Marine. Both of them gripped their axes tightly, waiting for the first hint of movement. Then with a furious roar the warrior called Gamma leapt at Persion, swinging his cursed axe in a wide arc. The air sang as the accursed metal carved through it, glinting with deadly light as the fires of battle played along its edge. Persion saw the axe coming at his skull and swayed back, letting the weapon pass a millimetre from his face. Gamma was pulled off to one side for an instant and then Persion struck, swinging his Friction axe in his augmetic hand towards the foe's head. However Gamma for all his size and bulk was not slow, he twisted to one side and the burning edge merely carved into his pauldron, marring the serpents etched there.

In return Gamma made a feint with his own axe but when Persion moved to block it his other hand punched out, smashing into the Storm Herald's faceplate to shatter an eye lens. Persion's vision crazed and he threw himself backwards, sense a whish of air passing by as the cursed axe barely missed him. He fell back hurriedly and ripped off his helm, seeing Gamma advancing upon him. The Alpha legionnaire was cocky and arrogant, swinging his axe in a figure of eight before him as he closed in for the kill.

Persion felt his anger rising within him, this cur was badly over-confident and he would make the filth rue that. Persion reversed his retreat and threw himself forward, right into the path of the axe. It was all a matter of timing, he managed to avoid the deadly edge of the blade but the thick haft caught him a ringing blow to the ribs that made him ache despite his thick ceramite armour. His own axe cleaved forward and buried itself in the breastplate of the foe, but the angle was poor and it failed to cut through to his opponent's hearts. In return Gamma roared in hatred and smashed his axe's hilt into Persion's back, the warriors being too close together to properly utilise their respective edges. Persion screamed as he slammed his free fist into the Traitor's abdomen, punching over and over with all of his strength.

The two heaved and jostled together like wrestlers from proto-history, clubbing and bashing away in a tight embrace. Gamma's knee rose up and smashed into Persion's groin, moving him fractionally away. Persion however took the momentum and used it to wrench his axe free from where it was buried in the scaled plate. He couldn't properly swing it in such close confines, but he jerked it upwards and the burning edge cut apart the Heretic's faceplate, leaving his helm a sparking, fused mess.

Gamma roared in anger and heaved hard, throwing Persion away from him. Persion staggered away, trying to keep his feet under him as he lurched backwards. He saw that Gamma had wrenched his own helm off to reveal a hard face made up of brutal angles and sneering hate. Gamma looked back at him and sneered, "I will kill you slowly for that."

Persion lifted his Friction axe and countered, "I'd like to see you try."

With that they leapt at each other once more, both axes swinging in deadly arcs. Gamma came at him with a killing stoke but Persion felt his anger rising and put everything he had into his own blow. All his anger and all his hate, the pain of the Phage, the frustration of being captured and the turmoil of indecision. He put it all behind the weight of his axe, swinging it right at Gamma's head.

Gamma saw the blow coming and realised that it would spell his doom. At the last moment he abandoned his own strike and moved to block, the two axes catching each other right behind the metal heads. The inertia of the impact twisted the hafts and tore both weapons from their grasps, sending them flying away to clatter upon the floor.

Persion and Gamma were left to slam together, ceramite ringing on ceramite as they impacted with enough force to crush a mortal. Fists flew and knees rose as they clubbed at each other, seeking the advantage. Persion kicked and hit out, using elbows and knees as much as his fists but in the scrum Gamma had the advantage of height and weight.

He drove Persion backwards and bowled him over, slamming him down to the ground and landing on top of him. Persion lashed out with a fist that made Gamma's head snap back but he was undaunted and battered away with his fists, over and over. Persion felt the impacts ringing upon him and snarled in frustration. He got one hand behind Gamma's head and heaved, pulling him forwards. Simultaneously he jerked his own head up and opened his mouth, sinking his teeth deep into Gamma's cheek in a spray of blood.

With a sudden snap backwards Persion tore a great chunk of flesh out of Gamma's face. Thick Transhuman blood flowed and the Traitor bellowed in rage, his pain only making him angrier. He drew back a fist, ready to smash Persion's face in but at that moment an explosion lifted them both up and threw them apart.

Persion was flung upwards before hitting the ground hard. He rolled over to see the bulky form of an Obliterator running between him and Gamma. Its head was on fire and its flesh was going crazy, forming random barrels and firing them indiscriminately as it passed between them. A second later it was gone, racing back into the battle and the way was clear once more. Persion gathered himself up, preparing to leap back at his foe but it was then that something most unexpected occurred.

Persion saw Gamma rear up, his hands locked about the gorget of his armour as if trying to rip it free. Gamma was screaming in agony, his face bored through by thick red veins which were turning black even as Persion watched. The anger and the rage were writ all over the Heretic's face, marked by a most terrible sight for any Astartes: fear, Gamma was afraid.

Gamma's eyes began to bulge from their sockets, swelling and turning red as blood poured from his tear ducts. The Heretic screamed in a hoarse voice and clawed at his neck as if trying to pull something from his flesh. Then he fell down, thrashing and convulsing as seizures racked his body. Persion was astonished as he recognised the symptoms afflicting Gamma, it was the Phage. The Bio-weapon that had ravaged his own gene-seed was now attacking this Heretic, running through his veins and ripping him apart cell by cell. The Chaos Marine was screaming as the Phage took hold, knowing that he was helpless to resist its toxic power. A tiny part of Persion's mind whispered that the Phage was only meant to target Storm Herald gene-seed, so this warrior must be…

He didn't get to finish the thought for suddenly there was a massive flash of green light and a screaming fireball flew into the packed ranks of fighting warriors. Bodies flew into the air, Traitor and Loyalist alike, the fire making no distinction between the two sides. In a heartbeat a hole was blown into the heart of the battle, leaving warriors scattered around in various states of dismemberment. Into that gap ran the Sorcerer, his three-headed staff glowing with discharged power. He dashed up to the fallen warrior calling, "Gamma, speak to me, Gamma!"

Persion had been thrown away by the force of the blast and saw the Sorcerer run up to the fallen Heretic to lift him under the shoulder. Persion tried to rise up to challenge them but before he could gain his feet the Sorcerer swept his hand around and eldritch sparks flew forth. The swirling energy span in a large glowing circle, drilling into the skin of reality and then it punched through, creating a Warp Gate that led to dimensions both unknown and profane. The Sorcerer pulled his trembling comrade towards the gate yelling, "Fall-back, everybody fall back!"

Instantly the Chaos Marines broke off from the fight, all of them recognising that the battle had turned against them. First through the Gate was the Sorcerer and his stricken comrade, stepping through to disappear and reappear somewhere else, as easily as walking from one room to another. The Alpha Legion hurriedly followed their fleeing leader, piling up around the Warp Gate as they fought and jostled to get through.

The Loyalists weren't about to let them go unscathed though and they chased them with bolter fire. Persion pulled free his bolt pistol and fired it on full auto, emptying his clip at their retreating backs. Rounds punched into retreating backs, blowing apart spines and blasting off legs. The fire concentrated as the number of enemies dwindled and more of them fell, of the Chaos Marines who had survived thus far barely half of them made it through to safety. Persion snarled as the last of them fled through the swirling Warp Gate, retreating with their tails tucked behind them to leaving the battlefield behind. The Gate hung in mid-air for a moment and then it collapsed, closing in on itself until it was the size of a pin, then it evaporated leaving only a sudden silence in its wake.

Persion heaved himself to his feet and looked about. Everywhere bodies were scattered, clad in blue or scales with the occasional purple form mixed in. Some foes were still twitching and some Brothers yet stirred so the squads moved to clean-up, dispatching wounded enemies and assisting stricken friends. The Storm Heralds had routed the foe but at great cost, the blood they had shed this day would be keenly mourned. Yet they had survived, they had won and they weren't the only ones.

From the other side of the hall came a tight group of purple-clad Marines: the Soul Drinkers, flushed with victory. They were bloodied and battered but they stood magnificently in their plate, showing their scars with a fierce pride. At their head was Commander Coluber, his iconography of a coiled serpent still clear despite the grime and the dirt of battle. In his hand was Venom, the blade unblemished and the amber jewel glowing fiercely in its hilt.

Persion scanned the approaching ranks and was relieved to see the form of Ferrac; it was good that he yet lived. As the group approached Captain Toran moved to meet them and the Command Squad came with him. They halted a few paces apart, the rest of the Company hanging back to see what was about to occur.

The two groups looked each other up and down and Persion realised that this was not going to be a warm greeting between comrades in arms. In fact the Soul Drinkers didn't seem to welcome the Storm Herald's presence at all. Toran opened first by calling, "Hail, you must be the one called Coluber. I have heard of you, I am Captain Toran and I greet you as fellow warriors of Him on Terra."

"Storm Heralds", Coluber replied stiffly, "Your presence was not required."

"Perhaps you weren't paying attention," Persion interjected, "I was under the impression that we just saved your lives."

Coluber fixed him with a stare and said, "Don't pretend that was an act of charity, you intervened only because you expected a reward."

"Let us not argue," said Toran trying to move things along, "We are all here now and we all want the same thing. Why don't we open this vault and see what we have got?"

A frank silence greeted that and then suddenly Coluber's hand came up, gripping a bolt pistol. The ranks behind him followed suit and suddenly all the Soul Drinkers were pointing their weapons right at the Storm Heralds.

Persion blinked in surprise as Coluber snarled, "That's not going to happen: the vault is ours."


	26. Chapter 26

**Venenum Filios Chapter 26**

A bead of sweat ran down his neck, a hint of the tension filling the hall but Commander Coluber ignored it. His grip on his bolt pistol was firm and unwavering, held out before him in a challenge. Behind him the Soul Drinkers held their own bolters ready, just waiting for the order to fire. Seventeen of them, Coulber counted, all that had survived the battle, all that remained of their Chapter.

All around them lines of Storm Heralds were standing with their own weapons held ready, among them a grim skull-helm Chaplain who was ominously saying nothing. Coluber could not help but notice that they held a serious advantage, both in numbers and in the quality of their arsenal but he wouldn't back down, he couldn't.

Across from him the Storm Herald's Captain Toran was gazing at him with one organic eye and an augmetic one. His face was covered in a web of black veins, hinting at serious problems in his gene-seed, no wonder they wanted the Gene-vault so badly. Toran held a magnificent sword in his hands, equal to Venom in workmanship. He was ready to use it but was not attacking, instead he said, "Cousin, I have seen you fight and I believe that you are yet loyal to Him on Terra but if you force my hand then I will hammer you down until you are dust."

"I can't let you steal the gene-tech," Coluber replied firmly, "We need it, we need it all."

Toran shook his head and said, "We do not want to steal anything, we merely need to examine the contents. We have need of the information within; it may lead us to a cure for our condition. We don't want the gene-seed itself."

Coluber spat, "I wish I could believe that, I wish I could trust you but I cant. If you try to enter the vault I will destroy you."

From behind the Captain a Marine stepped forward, Persion their former prisoner and he said, "Do you think you can take us when we have you surrounded and outgunned?"

Coluber snarled, "It doesn't matter, without that gene-tech we are dead anyway. Better to die fighting than fade into nothing. I won't let that happen."

Toran tried to reason with him, "But what if there's a better way? If you let our Apothecary examine the contents of the vault then I shall offer to help you rebuild."

Coluber shook his head and said, "You would never help the likes of us, we can only rely upon ourselves. We have to restore our honour ourselves."

Suddenly a voice arose from behind him, it was Ferrac and he stepped up to say, "Commander is this truly the way to do this, how can restore our honour with acts of treachery?"

Coluber was stunned by the accusation, he didn't take his eyes off Toran but said, "Ferrac, what are you saying?"

Ferrac replied, "You spoke of wiping away the stains of the past but look at us now. What is this but a perpetuation of our sins? We can't build something better upon a foundation of shame."

Coluber was confused and said, "I must do this, the end will justify the means."

Ferrac countered, "That sort of thinking led the old Soul Drinkers into treachery and we have been no better than they were. How many sins have we committed saying that tomorrow will be different? There has always been one justification or another for acting disgracefully and there always will be. If we do not change, here and now, then we never will. Start by asking yourself if you really want to pull that trigger."

Coluber was frozen by the words, the truth cutting into his soul and he whispered, "No… no, I don't."

Coluber lowered his pistol and suddenly the tension lifted, weapons sliding up and away as the Marines stepped back from the brink of battle. Toran lowered his own blade and said, "A wise choice cousin."

Coluber gathered himself and looked at Toran saying, "You spoke of assisting us, what exactly are you offering?"

Toran replied, "I have a fully stocked capital ship, packed the gunwales with supplies and munitions. If you will but trust us then I will in turn entrust that bounty to you. You can take your pick of our supplies, as much as you want."

Coluber was stunned by that, it was everything he had wanted. One capital ship held enough stores to sustain three Companies for an entire campaign. Supplies enough to keep a whole task-force battling on, without needing resupply from a Fortress-Monastery. His small band wouldn't need nearly as much; those provisions could sustain his Marines for years to come.

"There's more," Persion interjected, "We can give you the means to sustain yourselves. We have dedicated workshops and artisan's tools on board, everything you will need to manufacture new munitions and repair your gear. Not to mention fully equipped Apothecarion's for your new recruits. If we transferred their contents to your ship then you wouldn't need to steal supplies anymore, you could become almost self-sufficient."

Coluber's eyes narrowed, that was exactly what he had been dreaming of, suspiciously so. He fixed Persion with a stare and said, "How do you know about our needs?"

Persion tilted his head and replied, "Your comm-protocols are weak, you really need to beseech your Machine-Spirits for new encryption cyphers."

"Does it matter?" interrupted Ferrac, "Think of what they are offering, think of what we could do with that."

Coluber considered it for his band was in a parlous state, even with the gene-tech rebuilding would be an arduous process. This bounty could mean the difference between decades of rebuilding and centuries. If he agreed to this then his Chapter could be born again. He couldn't refuse this, he wouldn't, but still he needed more.

Coluber declared, "You have my interest, I may be able to accept such an accord… with some conditions."

Toran's organic eye glared, the offer had been more than fair and Coluber was testing the bounds of tolerance but the Storm Herald asked cautiously, "What do you want?"

Coluber considered asking for Thunderhawks and new suits of power armour but knew he could only press his luck so far, supplies were one thing but precious relics were another matter entirely. Instead he said, "I need more than tools, I need the hands to use them. I require the skills to forge replacement parts and tend to ailing gear, I also need talented healers to aid in creating new recruits. What I want is a thousand of your most skilled serf-artisans and Medicaes to be transferred to serve under my flag."

That brought gasps, Coluber was asking for blood. Serfs may not be Astartes but they were bound to their Chapter, a bond of service and loyalty that went two ways. Yet like all things their lives were subservient to the Chapter's requirements, their lives forfeit to its needs. Distasteful as it was if it came down to it any Space Marine would trade Serf lives for the survival of their Chapter. How desperate were these Storm Heralds, Coluber wondered, how much of their honour were they willing to sacrifice to save their Chapter?

He saw Toran glance over at his silent Chaplain, who fractionally nodded in agreement then the Captain said, "That is a harsh price, I could not possibly part with more than one hundred serfs."

Coluber's face did not show it but inside he was smiling, the Storm Herald had agreed in principle, now they were just haggling over price. He raised an eyebrow and replied, "I could not possibly manage with less than eight hundred."

Toran blinked in surprise then he caught on and said, "Three hundred."

"Seven hundred," countered Coluber.

"Four hundred," said Toran.

"Five hundred," Coluber stated, "And I want the right to tithe a selection of recruits from this world before we leave, to be our first generation of new neophytes."

"It is agreed," Toran declared as he sheathed his sword and held out a hand.

Coluber sheathed Venom and took the hand saying, "Done and done cousin."

Suddenly the tension in the air broke and everybody relaxed. It was like there had never been any question of them fighting as Storm Heralds and Soul Drinkers came together. They laughed and slapped each other on the pauldrons, feeling the joy of comradeship finally fill them. Marines who moments ago had been pointing weapons congratulated each other and shook hands like long-lost friends. Some even began comparing scars and notes of the battle with the Traitors, boasting of their deeds as warriors are wont to do.

Coluber stepped back, one hand resting on Venom's hilt as he said, "Apothecary Shrios, get that vault open. Let's see what we and our new friends have here."

As the Apothecary hurried over to the door Ferrac said, "I am glad that we managed to avoid bloodshed."

Coluber replied, "Your words were wise and righteous Brother, you reminded me of my true heart. I thank you for your advice."

Persion leaned forward and said, "I'll give one more piece of advice for free: change your Chapter's name and heraldry."

Coluber was taken aback at that and spat, "Do what?!"

Persion replied cooly, "The name of the Soul Drinkers is tainted, you know it will never be redeemed. You could fight for a thousand years but Terra would never accept you back, the only way to make this work is to be someone else. It's not like its unprecedented."

Stunned silence greeted that and even Persion's own squadmates looked befuddled, then Toran said, "Persion… what are you talking about?"

"Think about it," Persion explained, "Countless Chapters been declared extinct only to crop up again centuries later fully restored and many disgraced Chapters have mysteriously disappeared into the stars, never to be heard from again. The Minotaurs were once completely wiped out only to suddenly turn up at full strength millennia later. What was more likely, that they spent centuries patiently rebuilding in the darkness between stars or that someone else took up their name and fought under their banner?"

Everybody stood looking at him, mouths agape and Persion remarked, "Am I the only one who has noticed that?"

"It seems you are," Coluber said, "But this… it is too much to abandon our name."

Suddenly Ferrac interjected, "What does the name Soul Drinker represent save disgrace and infamy. Even those of us who held true have been dishonourable at times. Terra will never let the Soul Drinkers rise again, maybe it is time for a change."

"You agree with this madness?" Coluber asked in disbelief.

Ferrac replied, "You promised us a new start, a fresh page. The end to the old Chapter and its litany of mistakes you proclaimed. It is time to let go of the past and embrace a new future."

Coluber looked over his Marine's faces and saw that not one of them was protesting this idea. All of them had committed disgraceful acts to survive; all the Soul Drinkers were guilty of some Heresy or another. Strange as it was Coluber found that he truly did not care for the Soul Drinkers anymore, not for the marred traditions and tainted history at least. These were his Brothers and it was for them that he had fought, but now he could offer them a blank canvass to write a new history upon.

"You're right," Coluber stated, "The Soul Drinkers have been nothing but a byword for disgrace and failure. History decrees that they are dead and I am tired of arguing the point. It is time to let the Soul Drinkers fade away, now is the time for a new Chapter to be born, a better one."

Toran spoke up to say, "Then how shall you be known?"

Coluber blinked, having no idea how to reply to that. His eyes surveyed every face and he found no answer there, then his gaze dropped and he looked at Venom. He gazed at the amber jewel in the hilt and the snarling serpent head on the crossguard and suddenly the answer became obvious to him. Here in his hand was evidence of was who he truly was, whom he had always really been in his hearts. His spirit was encapsulated here in metal and stone and it was time his outer appearance reflected that reality.

Coluber looked up and he declared the self-evident truth, "The Soul Drinkers are dead, forevermore we shall be the Amber Vipers."


	27. Chapter 27

**Venenum Filios Chapter 27**

The needle slid home with a sharp clunk, sliding into the import socket in his armour and connecting with the catheter beneath. There was a momentary pause and then a thick soup of chemicals was pushed in, mixing with his bloodstream to release its contents. Persion stood stock still as the treatment was administered, waiting patiently as the drugs crept through his enhanced body.

After a few moments Apothecary Memnos pulled back his arm and disconnected the vial, before slotting a new one into his Narthecium. Persion flexed his neck and tested the movement of his arms, checking to make sure his recovery was improving. Memnos looked him up and down and said, "Do you feel any side-effects or nausea?"

Persion replied, "No, but the itching is reduced."

"Good that's a sign it's working," Memnos proclaimed, "Right who is next?"

Persion stepped away as Novak took his place, holding his arms out so the Apothecary could inspect him. His swelling was greatly reduced, but not completely gone; still it was a vast improvement. While the Champion was checked for allergic reactions Persion looked about to take in the room. He was currently standing in a large observation bay on the Thunderchild, one that looked out over the vast green sphere of Trux. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a place where history had been unwritten and new destinies forged, in more ways than one.

With Persion were Captain Toran and the rest of the Command Squad, Furion, Jediah, Bylan and Novak. All of them gathered to receive Memnos' elixir, the latest in an annoyingly frequent series of injections. Novak waited as Memnos dosed him with the same solution then said, "So are we cured now?"

Memnos shook his head and said, "Cured is a rather broad term, but I have found a way to mitigate the Phage's effects. The gene-tech from that vault was remarkable, it was crucial in finding a solution. The answer was so ingenious and yet so intuitive, I would never have found it on my own."

Furion probed, "But we're free of the Phage now?"

"Well no, I couldn't create an antibody to destroy the virus, it seemed deliberately designed to resist such efforts," Memnos explained, "But what I could do was modify our gene-seed at a genetic level so to make the Bio-weapon ineffective. The Phage's own genome-specific targeting was the key to rendering it irrelevant."

"So we still carry the Phage, we're just immune to its effects," Furion mused, "We will have to inoculate the whole Chapter then."

"Indeed but that should be no challenge," declared Toran, "Really I can't believe it was that simple."

"Simple?!" exclaimed Memnos, "That is hardly the word I'd use, you see what I had to do was take a genic sample and…."

Persion tuned out for the next few minutes as Memnos droned on and on about his marvellous medical breakthrough. Words like 'Antigens' and 'Protein-markers' and 'Reactive RNA' came and went in a torrent of technobabble. As Memnos showed off his technical skill Persion reflected upon recent events, the frenzy of activity they had all undertaken. The last month had been a tense time as the Apothecary feverishly worked, spending days at a time in the gene-vault only emerging to test various concoctions upon the initiates.

It had been worrying to see Memnos cursing and blaspheming with each failure, making the Storm Heralds brood that a cure might be beyond the Apothecary's skills. Then after three weeks of frantic endeavour Memnos had emerged in a jubilant mood, proclaiming that he'd found a solution to the problem. Since then he had been making the rounds, dosing everybody over and over with his elixir. He claimed it would only be a few more days until its effects were permanent, so all they could do was wait and trust his claim that it was working.

Persion's attention was dragged back as he heard Memnos say, 'So in the end the Progenoids finally proved to be hiding the answer we'd been looking for all along.'

"Well that certainly clears things up," Novak stated, obviously not following a word of it.

Memnos gathered up his spent vials and said, "Right that's you lot done, see you for the next dose in twelve hours. Now I've got to find Wrethan, he should be back from the planet by now."

Wrethan had been assisting with the recruitment trials on Trux and Persion couldn't help but ask, "He's been avoiding us, what exactly did the Phage do under that helm?"

Memnos shook his head saying, "Trust me you don't want to know, but rest assured that it will pass and he'll soon be back to his usual cantankerous self."

With that he departed, leaving the Command Squad alone under the glowing orb of the planet. Bylan looked up and said, "+Our cousins seem to be making ready to depart+"

Persion gazed up too and saw the speck of the Magnificence in low orbit, hanging within visual range. He took in its lines, barely one-tenth of the displacement of the Thunderchild and said, "Finally, the supply shuttles never seemed to stop coming."

Furion was looking hale as he said, "They've gone through our stockpiles like a horde of locusts. I'm amazed they can pack so many munitions onto such a small ship."

Bylan commented, "+Not to mention the workshops and Apothecarions, they've emptied absolutely everything+"

Novak jested, "Not everything, I know for a fact there are some wash-basins they missed on deck seventy-six."

Toran shook his head, the veins on his face fading to pale pink and said, "Let them have it, its only war material, our Brothers lives are worth more than that."

Jediah's face was almost rid of its bruised texture and he eyed the Captain saying, "If you value your life don't say that to the Forgemaster, he's going to hit the roof when he hears about this."

Furion sighed at that and said, "I was surprised when you agreed to Coluber's terms, to sacrifice Serf lives is not like you."

Toran lowered his gaze and confessed, "We were desperate, I couldn't risk saying no."

"It was good that we avoided bloodshed," Furion consoled him, "Especially after what occurred within the Company."

Toran's gaze hardened and he said, "We will speak of that only when we return home, not here."

Bylan protested, "+But Mylos…+"

"I said not here," Toran growled angrily.

Furion changed the subject saying, "Any sign of the Alpha Legion?"

"None," Toran replied testily, "They've slunk back under whatever rock they crawled out from."

Suddenly Persion's vox-bead tickled and he spoke up, "I hate to interrupt you but Coluber is here, requesting an audience."

Toran blinked as his mood lifted and he said in a lighter tone, "Send him in."

They watched as another Marine entered the space, one in totally unfamiliar heraldry. Gone was the purple and gold, replaced by new colours. Now his plate bore a deep and vibrant shade of amber, with black trim and a coiled green serpent upon his knee pad. The icon on his shoulder had changed too, the Chalice remained but now it was a black silhouette, bereft of jewels or shining rays. Around that cup a black viper was wrapped, coiling up around the stem as it reared its head up over the bowl of the goblet.

There was a simple elegance to the colours of the new Amber Vipers, a clean and fresh look that spoke of dedication and purity of purpose. It suited Coluber's chiselled features and the starlight glinted off his plate as he strode up to them. Coluber stopped before them and bowed low in respect saying, "Captain Toran."

Toran bowed low in return and said, "Chapter Master Coluber."

Coluber looked wistful as he said, "How strange to hear you say that, it still doesn't seem right."

Persion smirked and said, "Better get used to it; you have thousands of fresh-faced recruits to look up to you now."

Toran nodded in agreement and inquired, "The recruiting went well?"

Coluber replied, "Yes, though that Chaplain of yours is a terror, that silent act of his had the applicants soiling themselves. He's ruthless too, barely one in a hundred applicants made the cut, we were fortunate to cull two thousand of them from the whole planet. Shrios is most pleased; accounting for training casualties, combat losses and genetic incompatibilities he projects we will raise up nearly a Company's worth of Initiates in the first generation alone, with enough gene-seed to spare for a second generation."

Nobody baulked at that terrifyingly high estimate; such attrition rates were standard for the Adeptus Astartes' training regimes. If there was one thing every Space Marine in the galaxy would agree upon it was that weakness in the ranks would not be tolerated.

Toran took that in his stride and said, "And the Serf-Artisans?"

"A true blessing," Coluber replied buoyantly, "They work miracles, in just one month they have restored seven suits of power armour that I had deemed beyond repair. They are also most optimistic about our gunships, one Thunderhawk will begin recertification trails soon and they say if we scrap the rest of the derelicts for parts we may be blessed with a second one too."

"The Imperium desperately needs every Chapter it can get and this is a fine start," said Toran, "Yet it will only get you so far, where will you go next?"

"I don't know," replied Coluber solemnly then his face cracked a faint grin and he said, "Isn't that marvellous? Tomorrow is a blank canvass, just waiting for us to write our own destiny upon it. We can seek out the Emperor's enemies wherever we choose, make our own path and create our own traditions to pass on."

Persion inquired, "So you will not keep anything of the past?"

"The recruits will not be told of our shame, the less they know of the Soul Drinkers the better," Coluber replied, "Yet that which was pure shall endure. We shall scour the ancient philosophies and teachings most thoroughly, nothing suspect will persist. Though I will insist upon keeping the Rite of claiming memento's from the dead, personal ones that is, no more ripping up dead men's armour for us."

Persion pressed him, "Will you pass my regards to Sergeant Ferrac and tell him that I expect to fight alongside him again someday."

Coluber grinned, "Captain Ferrac's going to be busy. I plan on putting him in charge of whipping the recruits into shape, Emperor help him. He's going to be up to his eyeballs in crying boys and skinned knees for the foreseeable future."

Persion accepted this but Toran said, "There is one more matter of import, our records here are hardly exhaustive but in our ship's archives we found a single reference to a Chapter called the Amber Vipers. There was one reference to them fighting in the Occlusiad war, but since then nothing save silence for four thousand years. It seems that you have taken up a dead man's name."

Coluber nodded and said, "That is for the best, it should keep the Inquisition from prying too closely into the past. We will prove our worth to them with our actions, not dusty scrolls of forgotten deeds. The Soul Drinkers would never have been allowed to rise again, I see that now, but with this fresh start we can build something better."

Toran bowed low in gratitude and said, "I wish you fair sailing and swift victories in the wars to come. Fight well, for Him on Terra."

"We shall be as the viper: cold and fast," Coluber replied as he bowed in return, "Ave Imperator."

Then Coluber turned and marched out, striding off into an uncertain future. They watched him go and Persion said, "Do you think we will ever see them again?"

Furion replied, "Their fate is in their own hands now, it will be whatever they make of it."

Toran declared, "We may see them again someday but that is a matter for the distant future, we have more immediate concerns."

Persion looked at him and asked, "We return to Lujan II then?"

"Yes," answered Toran, "I must have words with Chapter Master Gorgall, there is much he must hear of, matters without the Chapter and within. Dark forces seek to undermine the Storm Heralds, we must be ready to face them."


	28. Chapter 28

**Venenum Filios Chapter 28**

Deep in the Warp something moved, a slice of hard darkness in a sea of frothing insanity. It drifted slowly on those ethereal tides, not really hastening to be anywhere, merely letting the current take it. This would have been anathema to the blinkered Imperial Navigators but the crew of this ship cared nothing for such timid caution. It was the Shadow, Beta's flagship, and it was limping away in humiliating defeat.

Deep within those vast decks was a special facility, a unique set of chambers built for a unique purpose. It was a series of sealed compartments, each one hermetically isolated from the rest. Every section had its own isolated life support system, along with biological detergents, hard radiation emitters and inbuilt flamers in case the worst should happen. Once this facility had housed the dreaded Virus Bombs of an entire Legion, now it served the purpose of acting as a quarantine facility.

In one of the ante-chamber a gathering was occurring, a meeting of the leaders of the Chaos Marines on board. To say that they were having a robust discussion would be a hysterical understatement, it was more that they were having a raging argument, one that threatened to spill out into bloodshed. The harsh tones were shocking in their implied menace and it made the mutant crew scamper away in wretched terror.

Loudest of all were the ringing bellows of Anurax who was shouting, "Run, you had us run, you worthless coward!"

Opposed to him was Beta who was equally irate as he yelled back, "The battle had turned and we were about to be cut down. A withdrawal was the only option!"

"Fleeing," Anurax sneered, "What sort of Chaos Lord flees at the sight of danger? Or was it more personal than that, I think it was the sight of your comrade being laid low that made your spine go soft."

"Do not test my patience," Beta growled as he let psychic power flow around his fists, "If you think I have gone soft then you are sorely mistaken. It seems that you have forgotten what happened the last time we duelled, I think a reminder is in order."

Anurax's eyes glanced at the energies curling around the Sorcerer's fists and a flicker of apprehension flashed in his eyes. He sank back into silence, not wanting to test the Sorcerer's wrath just now.

Beta didn't have time to enjoy his win for Talgor spoke up saying, "Your blunder cost us many of our warriors, we lost scores in the mad dash to retreat."

Zhumo agreed saying, "Not to mention the spoils of that world, now we run away and lick our wounds."

"There was nothing there worth fighting for anyway," Beta declared defensively.

"And the Bio-weapon," Talgor pressed, "What did your vaunted weapon achieve?"

Zhumo snickered, "The Neverborn whisper that the Throne-worshippers have already found a way to neutralise it."

"So many centuries spent developing that weapon," Talgor taunted, "So many sacrifices, all for nought."

Anurax rumbled, "The Harrowmaster is most displeased, he demands an explanation in person."

Beta looked across their line, seeing only angry and insolent rivals. This was getting out of hand; they were openly questioning his leadership and if he did not do something soon they would start to get ideas about replacing him. He decided then that these three had become more trouble than they were worth; it was time to do something about that.

"The Harrowmaster does not command this ship, I do," Beta declared but as he did so he made a surreptitious gesture to the corner where Delta and Epsilon were standing. To his surprise they did not move, standing stock still and he tetchily made the gesture again. Yet he was shocked when Delta loudly said, "Go bait your own trap."

Beta was shocked by the reply and his jaw fell open, the other three were not slow to pick up on the cue and Anurax chuckled as he said, "What's this, discord in the ranks?"

Zhumo looked between the Alpha Legionnaires and said, "It seems we are the not the only ones disgruntled with your leadership."

Beta glared at the pair of Alpha Legionnaires and hissed, "What are you playing at?"

"We're done taking your orders," Epsilon growled back, "You let Gamma get infected with our own Bio-weapon."

It was then that Beta realised how deeply his cell was wounded, the bonds that knit them together were singular and precious which made it all the harder when they broke. Trust was so rare in the Alpha Legion that to break faith with ones cell-brothers was unthinkable. It was the only bond that held them together and these two seemed to think Beta had broken that trust.

Beta was spared having to make a rejoinder when a cowering mutant emerged from behind a plastek curtain and whimpered, "Mighty one… he's asking to see you."

Beta glared at the other Chaos Marines and said, "Wait here, I need to see Gamma."

He left them behind as he stepped through the partition into another chamber. This room was divided into two by a thick armourglass wall, ringed with controls and runebanks. In his half were a score of cowering mutants in dark robes but in the other half was a lone warrior. It was Gamma and he looked to be in a terrible state.

Gamma was naked, stripped of his armour and squatting on the floor with his head in his hands. Every one of his muscles looked drenched in sweat and thick green pustules were forming all over his body. Many of them had burst, leaving runnels of pus over his flesh and they oozed onto the floor around him. "Get out," Beta breathed then louder, "Get out!"

The mutants fled in terror leaving the two alone and Beta stepped up to the glass saying, "Gamma, speak to me Brother."

Gamma slowly lifted his head and said, "Beta…"

The Sorcerer was horrified by the diseased, crippled thing before him and whispered, "Brother, I am here."

Gamma croaked in a weak voice, "The cure, give me the cure."

Beta was torn by the sight of the once proud warrior, a soldier he had trained himself and raised up through his gene-forging. There was no closer bond between Brothers than that and it struck him to the core to see Gamma like this, so weak, so helpless. The worst thing was that he knew there was no help to be had, there was nothing he could do to aid the infected Chaos Marine. This quarantine was to keep him from infecting anyone else, not the other way around.

Beta whispered, "There is no cure, that was the whole point of the weapon."

Gamma leapt to his feet in a feral burst of energy, he threw himself at the glass, beating his diseased fists futilely against it as he rasped, "You're lying, you always lie! I always hated the way you do that, I always hated you."

Beta bit back his first response and stated, "If I had a cure I would give it to you."

Gamma's eyes became unfocused and he said in a distant voice, "I can feel it in my blood, in my bones, it's eating me alive."

"Gamma, stay with me," Beta pleaded desperately.

"And then there's the voice," Gamma said dreamily.

"Voice?" Beta said as alarm rose within him, "What voice?"

Gamma looked into infinity as he said, "The voice… it offers me life, offers me so much."

"Gamma, don't listen," Beta warned him, "It's the Warp calling to you."

"The voice," Gamma whispered, "It speaks of power and strength, the might that comes from rage and bloodshed. So much strength, enough to drive this sickness out in an inferno of fury and rise anew. It says I can lay waste to whole worlds and purge myself in an ocean of blood."

Beta pleaded, "Gamma shut it out, it's trying to take your soul. Chaos is there to be mastered, not worshipped."

Gamma however wasn't listening, instead saying, "Such might, such power… I want it. I want all you have, give it to me: I let you in!"

"Gamma don't!" Beta cried but it was too late. Even as he watched Gamma's flesh began to swell, not with sickness but with new muscle mass. His skin began to convulse and harden, forming into spikes and broad plates. It began to glisten with a coppery sheen and solidify into thick plates of pressed brass, covering him neck to toe in brazen armour. Gamma's face trembled and then his gums sprouted a pair of pointed tusks, tiny at first but growing bigger by the second and upon his brow nascent horns burst through the skin.

Gamma blinked and when his eyes opened again they were not his. Something older and far fouler looked out of his eyes with a shimmering red light. Gamma's form was growing second by second, filling the room and his fist lashed out to craze the armourglass wall in a spiderweb of cracks. His mouth opened and from it came an unearthly roar, "Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the…"

At that second concealed panels sprang open all around the room, revealing hidden nozzles behind them. There was a moment's pause and then with a whoosh of flame long tongues of burning promethium spat forth, filling the space with a blinding conflagration. The thing that had been Gamma thrashed in rage and denial but could not defy the purifying touch of flame. Its grip on reality was incomplete and it had yet to learn the full potential of its new flesh. It thrashed and screamed but was helpless to resist as its body crumbled around it, turning into a puddle of molten brass and black ashes. For minutes the flames burned and then they ceased, leaving behind a scorch mark that had once been Gamma.

On the other side of the armourglass Beta lifted his finger from the sterilisation rune and stood in silence. He looked upon the ashes of Gamma, frozen into stillness and unable to move. For long moments he stood there in shock, struggling to grasp what he had just done and what it meant. He placed a hand on the glass and whispered, "Brother I didn't want…"

Then he snatched it back and made it into a fist as he snarled, "It means nothing, he meant nothing, none of them do. I rule alone, I need nobody else. I am Beta, I am the Hydra and the Hydra always wins."

It was a firm declaration but in his hearts he knew it was a lie, yet he had to act like it was true. Beta turned his back on the ashes of Gamma and strode out of the chamber, stepping back to where the Chaos Marines were waiting. Beta entered the ante-chamber and declared firmly, "Gamma is gone."

The gathered assembly was divided in its response, Anurax, Talgor and Zhumo barely reacted, making only the feeblest attempts to look solemn. Delta and Epsilon however glared at the Sorcerer with anger and resentment bubbling just under the surface as Delta hissed, "This is your fault."

Beta narrowed his gaze and let power flare around the head of his staff as he growled, "Do not doubt me, I am in command here. Anyone who thinks that they can question me is making a grave mistake."

The group slunk back in submission, none of them wanting to challenge the Sorcerer openly. Yet as Beta looked at them he knew that all of them held him responsible for this, for their defeat and the humiliating retreat. He knew none would dare face him in a duel but they would certainly be scheming behind his back and sharpening their knives, just waiting for an opportunity. Even Delta and Epsilon must be thinking that he had lost his authority, his right to command. Resentment and anger would fester and turn Beta's only loyal followers against him.

Beta did not give anyone time to respond, instead sweeping imperiously out of the ante-chamber. He left them all behind in his wake as he strode out but every step of the way his neck itched and he felt like he had a giant bolter-target painted on his back. Beta knew that his rule was no longer safe and it was inevitable that soon someone would try to relieve him both of his command and his life.

As he strode away two questions consumed Beta's mind: how soon it would be before they made their move and how many of them would come for him.

 _The Storm Heralds will return in Locum Ignotum_


	29. Chapter 29

_Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story, Domus Discordia_

 **Somewhere, Somewhen**

He could see the planet orbiting far below, a brilliant glistening orb of blue and green, banded by thick storms all around the terminus. It hung outside the shimmering atmospheric integrity field of the landing bay, a blessedly welcome sight and one he had doubted that he would ever see again. It was Lujan II, the homeworld of the Storm Heralds Chapter and it was a place that every soul present longed to see.

Captain Toran was stood in the primary landing bay of the Thunderchild, waiting patiently. He was a magnificent sight in his artificer armour, with a red cloak and his legendary relic blade, the Sword of Thiel, on his hip. His face bore one gleaming augmetic eye and twin diagonal scars that gave him a fierce mien. Only a slight trace of fading veins marred this visage, a sign that all was not well.

Toran let his vision sweep across the bay, seeing the Marines of Third Company standing in ranks, squad by squad. Their armour was perfect, beautifully maintained and restored to a glorious condition. They bore their bolters at parade rest, facing forward in absolute stillness. It was glorious and yet each of them also bore faint signs of imperfection, the smallest hints that of their recent travails.

Toran reflected upon this, his most recent mission had seen unbelievable twists and turns. They had been infected with a weaponised Phage, designed to destroy their unique gene-seed from the inside and their quest for a cure had taken them to strange places indeed. They had met both ancient foes and a band of hostile renegades, who sought the same solution they did. Toran had seen rivals become friends and friends become enemies in the most grievous of betrayals.

Toran had struggled to believe everything that had happened and he had been there. Explaining it all to his superiors had been a rather complicated affair. Since they had returned three months ago the Thunderchild had been kept in strict quarantine, while a furious exchange of vox messages had passed back and forth. Questions and accusations had flown continuously for days and then a slow grinding process of examination and endless medical tests to ascertain the nature of the threat.

Eventually their account had been accepted and they had been allowed to send the cure down to Lujan II. Then they had to wait while the whole Chapter was vaccinated against the Phage. Endless days had ground past but at last the Chapter Master was willing to speak to them in person and so the Third Company had assembled to meet him.

Toran spied a glint outside the atmospheric field, an approaching gunship. A stir ran through the ranks as everybody saw them too. Slowly the specks grew into the shapes of void-craft, firing braking thrusters as they closed. Toran zoomed in his augmetic eye and saw the outline of a Thunderhawk, one whose wings were emblazoned with golden starbursts, the personal craft of Chapter Master Gorgall.

Toran and Third Company waited patiently as the craft entered the bay and settled down, ice forming on the void chilled hull. Long seconds passed and then the front ramp ground down, revealing the dark troop bay behind. Toran stood stiffly as movement stirred within and then four figures emerged. They wore shining artificer plate and bore long handled power axes, their faceplates were stylised in the fashion of soaring eagles' wings and their heads were darting to and fro, looking for danger. These were the Honour Guard, the Chapter Master's most trusted warriors and they were ever alert for threats to his person.

The Honour Guard took a moment to check the area was secure then formed up, two on each side of the ramp and waited. Toran's eyes were fixed on the ramp and he was eager to see his visitors. First down the ramp came a face he knew well, Ninth Captain Phalros, his old commander and trusted friend. He took up a position in the line and waited with his patrician, senatorial head held high.

The next visitor was more unusual and Toran blinked to see Seventh Captain Maxitio march down the ramp. What was he doing here, Toran wondered. That was nothing compared to the arrival of Scout Sergeant Nimodes, who shouldn't have been here at all.

Toran's surprise was covered however by the entrance of Chapter Master Gorgall himself. Toran saw his Lord and Master emerge and was shocked by the sight. Gorgall looked haggard and worn, his always thin countenance practically skeletal now. The burden of command hung heavily upon him and he seemed to have aged a decade since Toran had last seen him. The Captain covered his surprise by declaring, "Company, present arms!" A thunderous crash rang out as nearly a hundred hands clasped Bolters upright before them and their boots clanged together in attention.

Gorgall slowly walked down the ramp and surveyed the waiting warriors. After a moment his voice rang out, still strong despite his weathered visage, "Brothers, long have been your travels but at last you are home."

He walked up to Toran who bowed low and said, "My Lord, it is good to see you."

Gorgall nodded and said, "Third Captain, it is good to see you. Honours will be presented in due time but first we have much to talk about."

Toran blinked at the abrupt dismissal of his Marines but said, "Of course, Company stand at ease."

The Marines sank back to rest and Gorgall and his retinue walked on to a waiting transit capsule at the end of the bay. Toran waited a moment to dismiss the company and then followed on, climbing in behind them.

The transit capsule set off, headed deeper into the ship and Toran opened his mouth. He was paused by Gorgall who held up a hand and looked at Nimodes. The Scout-sergeant checked a small auspex, looking for vox-thieves then nodded to signal that they were free to talk.

Toran was bemused by this and said, "My Lord, what is happening?"

Gorgall sighed and said, "One can never be too careful, the walls have ears these days."

Toran was confused and said, "What has happened while I've been away."

"Much," replied Gorgall, "But first let us speak of your mission, tell me of this Phage."

Toran swallowed and said, "As I reported it was a tailored bio-weapon, finding a cure was perilous indeed."

"You were most fortunate," Phalros said, "Who would have believed such gene-tech was hidden so close to our homeworld."

Toran agreed, "Had it not been for the most unlikely of circumstances we would never have found it."

Gorgall's eyes narrowed at that and said, "Yes, that is cause for concern, you spoke of meeting renegades. A disgraced Chapter and giving them succour."

Toran hackles rose and he said, "They were outcasts from a disgraced Chapter, but yet loyal to Terra, they were no traitors. They fought well and proudly, they deserved a chance to rebuild."

Phalros said, "A great risk to take, you can't know what they will do next."

Toran countered, "One of my men fought alongside them, I trust his judgement."

Nimodes frowned and said, "As I understand it you had these renegades outnumbered and outgunned. Why didn't you just kill them?"

Toran blinked and said, "I gave them my word to share the gene-tech."

Nimodes pressed, "But once you had the cure within your grasp, why not just eliminate them?"

Toran didn't understand and repeated, "I gave them my word."

Maxitio nodded in approval but the rest shared a loaded glance and Phalros said, "Toran, sometimes I think you are the smartest Marine ever to march under our banner and at other times I think that you are the thickest dunce I have ever met. You took a huge risk with no certainty that it will not return to haunt us, the whole Chapter may well come to regret this decision."

Gorgall raised an armoured hand and said, "What's done is done; let us focus on how this affects us now."

Nimodes leaned in and said, "Lessall and Samect have already heard of this, their men in your Company reported everything that occurred. They claim this is proof that the Emperor has condemned our policies of moderation, they seek to claim power once and for all."

Phalros followed up by saying, "Those two have been making serious progress, they have swayed several Captains to their cause."

At this point Maxitio declared, "Recently Lessall approached the undeclared Captains, myself included. He tried to recruit us, I turned them down but Captains Erathor and Hakulo are with them."

Phalros agreed, saying, "They already have Jossat and Tygra with them, our side is seriously outnumbered now. If it weren't for Gorgall's unassailable authority they would be running the Chapter by now."

Toran was aghast but noticed one name missing and said, "What of Tenth Captain Judio?"

Nimodes shook his head and said, "Judio seeks to sit this one out on the sidelines, he doesn't want to get involved. The Librarians and Techmarines can get away with that but he'll be dragged in whether he wants to or not."

Toran drew in a breath and dropped his bombshell saying, "There's something you should know, Lessall and Samect are already on the move. They sent an assassin to try to kill me."

Gorgall nodded and said, "Sergeant Mylos."

Toran's jaw dropped and he spat, "You knew?!"

Nimodes answered frankly, "We knew he was spying for Lessall, but we had no idea he was going to go so far."

Toran's anger rose and he snarled, "Why wasn't I informed?!"

"Disinformation," Phalros replied, "Besides we couldn't risk tipping off Lessall's faction that we knew."

"Wait," said Toran suspiciously, "You have a spy in his camp, don't you."

Nimodes grinned and said, "Not so thick after all, yes we are not totally without friends."

Toran swallowed his anger, it galled him to be used so but his strategic training showed him the tactical value of this. He looked up and said, "So what are we going to do?"

Gorgall said, "This situation is a powder keg, one wrong move will tear the Chapter apart. We need to divide and isolate our rivals, keep them separated. I have sent Erathor, Hakulo and Jossat on remote, inglorious patrols while Tygra stands garrison."

"Good," said Nimodes, "Let them cool their heels wandering dead star systems for a while."

Gorgall looked irritated as he continued, "We can no longer keep this contained to the highest masters, we must appeal to every Brother's heart. I want you three on high profile assignments, win enough glory and we can turn the hearts of the rank and file to our cause. Phalros, I want you to go to Tectum and join the naval taskforce against the Tyranids. Maxitio, there's a certain Rouge Trader who seeks an alliance with us; he claims to have found a rich planet to conquer deep in Segmentum Tempestus. Toran, Orks are building in the Serrati Stellas, take the Thunderchild and go root them out."

"Orks!" Toran spat incensed, "The Chapter is tearing itself apart and you send me to fight Orks. We're already at war; Lessall has sent assassins against us!"

Phalros fixed him with a stare and queried, "An accusation for which you possess irrefutable proof?"

Toran grimaced and said, "I heard it from Mylos' own mouth."

Maxitio shook his head and said, "The ramblings of a diseased and delusional Brother, one you already had a bad history with. That will not convince anybody."

"He's right," Phalros said, "We have to tread carefully now, undermine Lessall with a few easy victories."

Toran wasn't convinced and said, "It's a mistake to leave all our allies so far from home. They might make an attempt on your life."

"I have my Honour Guard," Gorgall said, "And I doubt they would go so far as to threaten me."

Toran's incredulity was clearly written upon his face for Phalros barked, "This isn't a discussion, you have your orders."

Toran couldn't argue with orders and said, "As you wish."

Gorgall accepted his compliance and said, "One more thing, Honourable Ajax is awake again and he's rather angry."

"When isn't he?" muttered Nimodes, "A cranky Dreadnought is the last thing we need right now."

Gorgall ignored that and said, "He's liable to touch off a promethium bomb if he stays here, take him with you. Go kill some Orks and soothe his temper for us."

Toran nodded and said, "I shall obey."

"Good," declared Gorgall crossing his arms, "Hopefully by the time you all get back this crisis will have blown over and we can get back to our proper duties once more."


End file.
